Jackson, Where's My Paycheck?
by theharshlightofday
Summary: A hobbit in dire need of health insurance, a bumbling gardener, a senile wizard, a klutzy ranger, a prissy elf and a horny elf maiden with a speech impediment… it can only be a shameless parody of Peter Jackson’s movie trilogy!
1. Plausibility, Schmausibility

_The Lord of the Rings is an amazing set of movies, yes. It has won international acclaim, yes. It has won a bunch of Oscars, yes. But where would be the fun if we couldn't parody it?_

_As a rule, anything wrong in this story in regards to canon, characterisation, setting, space, time and/or continuums is meant to be that way, hence the parody part of, well, _parody_._

_If I owned the Lord of the Rings I would buy my own island and a pack of ostriches with x-ray vision. Alas, I do not. Let this story be known as a result of numerous late nights, very random MSN conversations and a few too many cans of a certain caffeine-infused beverage. _

**XX****X**

So.

It all began really with this kid called Sauron. Now it's never been easy for a horny pubescent dark lord having to endure the horror that is high school. But to go through all that as a giant flaming eye? I mean, that's like walking around with a giant 'kick me' sign on your back, and boy did it make Sauron bitter to the end of his days.

So.

He concocted an evil plan, which involved a bunch of rings, and knowing the vanity of the Elves, and of Men and the… um… Dwarves, he gave to them this mystical jewelry and ensnared them in his power. For another ring was made, in secret, in the fires of Mount Doom. And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to get back at anyone who had ever called him Eyeball.

One Ring to rule them all.

One by one, free lands in Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A group of Elves and Men got together and had a cup of tea, and decided that they really didn't like this Sauron chap, and thought it right and proper to march over to his gate, politely knock, and ask him to stop killing and raping and pillaging their lands _kthanxbye_! But things don't always work out the way you want them to, and Sauron got rather mad, and there ended up being this epic battle called the Last Alliance, where the race of Elves and Men fought for the freedom of Middle Earth, right on the slopes of Mount Doom.

One part of said Alliance To End All Alliances was led by the Lord Elrond, wisest of all elves, who sported a disarming scowl and a wandering eyebrow that could put The Rock to shame. Despite the rather epic and bloody battle occurring around, beside, below and on top of him, he was not wearing a helmet. Chalk it down to elven machismo.

"_Tangado haid!"_ he cried. "_Hado i philinn!"_

And it was at that moment that a certain percentage of the audience became wide-eyed. The… characters… aren't… speaking… English? Several made a desperate charge for the exit. But there stood a figure there, wrapped in a grey cloak and wielding a staff. He lifted stern eyes and glared at these runaways.

"You shall not pass!"

They all scurried back to their seats.

Meanwhile, a line of elven archers sent a volley of arrows at the approaching orcs; ugly, hulking beasts of assorted shapes, sizes, colours and flavours. This did nothing to dissuade the enemy however, and in a beautiful synchronistic display the elves wielded their double edged swords and proceeded to hack and slash at the oncoming beasts quicker than you can '_Yrch_!'

It seemed victory was near. The orcs began to flee from this fierce onslaught of Elves and Men. But suddenly a shadow of fear came upon all. Before them rose a dark figure, wielding a rather nifty mace. He looked down at all of the men before him, quivering with fear, and a little smile alighted upon his lips.

"Boo!"

They all backed away, cowering. Sauron feinted with his mace. They all cowered again. He feigned left, then right, then back and forth and around in a little circle. Tens of thousands of warriors across the plains of Mordor all performed a perfectly synchronized pirouette. But then there stopped forth a man called Elendil. He was a fearsome warrior of great renown, tall, strong, and wielding a huge sword (not that kind you perverts!). Narsil it was called, and a fire was in its blade. Metaphorically speaking of course.

Sauron turned to face Elendil and frowned.

"Where's Gil-Galad?"

Elendil shrugged.

"They decided he was so superfluous that they cut him out of the movie altogether." Something caught his eye. "He's lying over there." He pointed. "And there." He looked down. "And I think there's some of him on my shoe."

Sauron looked glum.

"That's a shame. What about all of his crazy obsessed fangirls?"

Elendil bowed his head.

"Alas! for the fangirls!" Then he seemed to realise something, and lifted his head. "So, wanna have a really anticlimactic one second battle?"

"Sure."

There was a flash and a bang and Elendil lay sprawled upon the floor, dead. His son, Isildur, rushed to his side.

"Well," he said, frowning, "that was rather anticlimactic."

Sauron just shrugged, and stomped upon Isildur's fingers as he tried to lift his father's sword. The blade broke beneath him.

Isildur's face fell.

"How in Eru's name can this sword be the most amazingly fantastical blade in all of existence if it can be broken by SOMEONE'S SHOE?" He sighed a long suffering sigh, and then lashed out, and cut the Ring from Sauron's finger. It fell to the ground, smouldering. Sauron looked at his severed finger. His eyes widened.

"Thank Eru I wore the thing on my finger!"

Then he exploded.

Isildur lay there, slightly windswept. He looked at the sword, and then at Sauron, and then at the sword again. He was a pretty slow guy.

"Wait a minute," he said. "This is Sauron isn't it? Lord of the Ring, Master of the Earth, the Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named, The Giant Flaming Eyeball himself?" He frowned. "And I defeated him by cutting off his BLOODY FINGER?"

He threw down the broken sword, and stormed off to his trailer.

**XX****X**

And so Sauron was defeated, and the Ring passed to Isildur, who could've just chucked it into Mount Doom and been done with it. But oh no, that wouldn't do, because then there would be no Lord of the Rings trilogy, and the bucket loads of money and perfume endorsements and action figures that are sure to follow.

But yeah, like I said. Isildur may have been an idiot, but he knew a good movie franchise when he saw it. He secretly schemed to keep the Ring so that he could be conveniently ambushed en route to Gondor, wherein he would be slain and have the Ring slip off his finger and into the river. It would then be picked up by the creature Gollum, who would take it deep into the Misty Mountains, and become quite scarily obsessed with it. Not to the degree that some fangirls obsess, but, y'know, somewhere just below that.

Anyways, one day a hobbit called Bilbo Baggins would just happen to be walking through Gollum's cave, and would conveniently find the Ring, put it in his pocket, and wander back home to the Shire. And there, you see, we have the very plausible (wink, wink) set up to a very profitable movie franchise, named the Lord of the Rings.

For the time will soon come when Hobbits will shape the fortunes of all.

Or something.

**XX****X**

In an idyllic landscape, under an idyllic looking tree, there sat a hobbit. His nose was buried in a book, the title of which was quite plainly _The Communist Manifesto._

A few passers by threw him odd looks. This was Frodo Baggins, heir to Bilbo Baggins, who was himself a rather queer hobbit everyone tended to avoid. Frodo had dark hair and big, bulging blue eyes. If astonished or scared, they would probably fall out of his head.

Frodo cocked an ear. The sound of singing could be heard upon the breeze. He stood up, and grinning widely, hurried off to find the source of the noise. After a moment, he stopped on a grassy slope above the road. Around the corner there came a cart laden with fireworks. Driving it was an old man, dressed in grey robes and a pointed hat. His beard was as long as his nose was large.

"_The road goes ever on and on,"_ he sang. "_Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can…"_

Frodo folded his arms.

"Who's that singing blatantly obvious lines from the book to appease the purists?"

The cart stopped, and the man in it peered at Frodo from under the brim of his hat. His gaze was stern.

"And why," he said, "would I need to be appeasing the purists?"

"Well," said Frodo, ticking off on his hands, "I look about twenty years younger than I should, the back story of the Ring has been atrociously condensed, Gil-Galad and Elendil were presented as idiots, and your hat should be blue, not grey. And that's only in the first two scenes of the movie. Do you want me to go on?"

They both stared at each other for a moment. Then they burst into laughter. Frodo jumped into the cart and glomped the wizard.

"It's wonderful to see you Gandalf!

"You didn't think I'd miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday?"

He raised his eyebrows provocatively, then clapped a hand on Frodo's shoulder. The hobbit brushed his hand aside with a stern glance. Gandalf went back to driving the cart.

"So?" asked Frodo, as they rolled along. "How 'bout that outside world, huh?"

Gandalf shrugged.

"Y'know, the usual. Couple of battles, some plagues… ooh, and I got a tattoo!" He pulled up his sleeve, and brandished it with a grin.

"Er," said Frodo, peering at his arm, "why does it say Gondalf?"

The wizard did a double take, and twisted his arm, so he could see the tattoo more clearly.

"Dammit!"

The cart continued to trundle through the sleepy little region of land known as the Shire. All about them stretched fields of crop, snatches of trees, flowers, and many a hobbit hole with their little rounded doors, some extravagant, some not so extravagant. A little gathering of hobbit children began to follow the cart. Gandalf shot off some fireworks at them, which chased them down the road and out of sight, nipping at their heels with golden stars.

"I never did like children," said Gandalf, off Frodo's confused glance.

They passed a field, where a huge pavilion was being set up for Bilbo's birthday party. Gandalf grinned.

"So how is the old rascal?" asked the wizard. "I hear it's got to be a party of special magnificence."

Frodo nodded.

"It's gonna be bigger than Mardi Gras, I'm telling you. Bilbo's got the whole place in an uproar. Half the Shire's been invited." A rotten tomato came whizzing over their heads. "The other half are a bit testy."

"Good gracious me!"

Frodo frowned. "He is up to something…"

Gandalf gave a secret smile.

"Oh really…"

Frodo laughed.

"All right then keep your secrets. Before you came along we Bagginses were very well thought of."

"Indeed?"

"Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

"If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved. All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

Frodo snorted.

"Oh please. You bashed a hole in his front door, sent him running out to Eru-knows-where without a pocket handkerchief and disappeared at the most inconvenient of times in order to heighten the tension of the story."

Gandalf looked about shiftily.

"Well, I'm definitely not going to be doing that a lot in this film, no siree."

Frodo clapped a hand on the wizard's shoulder.

"Gandalf, I'm glad you're back."

And he jumped off the moving cart and dashed merrily away.

"And that," muttered Gandalf, shaking the reins with a sigh, "is one of the last times you will _ever _see that boy smile in this entire trilogy."

**XX****X**

A few minutes later Gandalf rumbled up the hill and came to a stop outside Bag End, the residence of one Bilbo Baggins. Upon the gate there hung a sign: '_Piss off, I'm hung-over'_.

Gandalf ignored this sign, opened the gate, plodded up the path and knocked on the front door with his staff. And once again, he knocked a hole through Bilbo's front door. Whistling innocently, he chucked his staff into the bushes as the door was opened.

"No thank you!" came a groggy voice. "We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers or distant relations!"

Gandalf chuckled.

"And what about very old friends?"

The door swung open all the way. On the threshold there stood a small hobbit, with greying curly hair and beady eyes. He squinted in the morning sun. A bottle of brandy was in his left hand.

"Gandalf?" he said, rubbing at his head.

"Bilbo Baggins!" The wizard knelt down and wrapped his arms about the swaying hobbit. Then he backed away, with a look of long suffering upon his face. "Y'know Bilbo, you should really stop going on these all-night benders. It can't be good for you, especially at your age! One hundred and eleven years old… who would believe it?" Then he looked at the hobbit in wonder. "You haven't aged a day."

Bilbo laughed, and took a swig from his brandy.

"Well, I guess I must be doing _something _right then! Come on, come in! Welcome, welcome!" He ushered Gandalf inside and closed the door. "I was just doing a nice greasy fry-up. You want some?"

Gandalf shook his head: "Just tea, thank you."

And Bilbo bustled off to go and check upon his bacon. Gandalf walked into the study. The desk by the window was cluttered with letters, papers and maps. Gandalf picked one up and looked at it with a smile. It depicted the Lonely Mountain.

"Bilbo?"

"Hmm?" The sound of sizzling pork rashers drifted in from the kitchen.

"Why is it called the Lonely Mountain? I mean, it's a mountain right? How can a mountain get lonely?"

Bilbo came back in, a plate of bacon and eggs in hand.

"You know, I never really thought about it…" There was an obscene amount of banging upon the front door. The hobbit threw himself against the wall and whispered: "I'm not at home!"

Gandalf nodded, and then put down the map and walked to the front door. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was waiting on the front step, with her hands upon her hips.

"Sorry," said Gandalf. "Bilbo is not at home."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, how _convenient_! Bilbo Baggins decides to take a trip the day after throwing up all over my flowerbeds!"

Gandalf turned towards the hidden Bilbo.

"Did you?"

The hobbit made a slashing motion across his throat.

Gandalf coughed.

"I, er, I mean… did he? Really? Hmm. Well, I'm sure he'll be back to make amends soon. It's not like he's hiding in the study or anything!" Bilbo slapped himself in the forehead. "Well, um, bye!"

And he shut the door in her face. Bilbo watched her storm off down the path with a sigh.

"I've got to get away from these confounded relatives hanging on the bell, never giving me a moment's peace!" He collapsed into a seat by the table, and began waffling down his breakfast. "I want to see mountains again, mountains Gandalf! And then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book." The kettle whistled. "Ah, tea!"

He leapt up and poured Gandalf a mug. The wizard sat down and had a sip. His face screwed up in disgust. Then he swiped Bilbo's bottle of brandy off the sideboard and gave it a kick.

"So, you mean to go through with your plan, then?"

"Yes, yes. It's all in hand. All the arrangements are made." He pointed to a suitcase in the corner. "Been packed for days."

Gandalf frowned.

"Frodo suspects something."

"Er, yes," Bilbo coughed. "Well, I was phoning up the travel agents the other day to book tickets to Hawaii and I accidentally dialed his number…"

"Ah."

"So you see, I took him on a bender and plied him with drink until he'd forget." The hobbit grinned. "I think it worked."

Gandalf nodded.

"He certainly looked bright-eyed and bushytailed just a little while ago."

"Yes, well the lad can handle his drink. Damned youth."

"You will tell him eventually, won't you?"

"Yes, yes."

"He's very fond of you."

Bilbo's eyes widened.

"Is he? I-I mean, I know we are related, but only distantly…"

Gandalf clouted him.

"There are enough fangirls in this godforsaken world! Do not make a slip of the tongue and create more of them with your incestuous remarks!"

Bilbo rubbed his head.

"Sorry." He had a sip of tea. "He'd probably come- I- I mean, he would follow me if I asked him. I think in his heart Frodo is still in love with the Shire. Stupid friggin' tree hugger he is. I wouldn't be surprised if he ran off and joined Green Peace." Bilbo got up and walked to the window. His face became sad. "I'm old Gandalf. I know I look a million dollars. But it's not the botox, it's something else. I'm beginning to feel it in my heart. I feel thin… sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread. I need a holiday, a very long holiday, and I don't expect I shall return. In fact, I mean not to!"

The wizard frowned.

"Well, nice to see you again too!"

**XX****X**

Later that night, once Bilbo's pounding headache had subsided a bit, they both stumbled outside and sat on the porch, taking in a bit of the night air. Gandalf looked about shiftily.

"Umm, Bilbo?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay for us to…" He lowered his voice. "Smoke?"

Bilbo frowned.

"Don't be absurd! Of course it's okay for us to smoke!" He slipped his pipe out of his jacket pocket and began to light up. "Why do you ask?"

Gandalf shrugged.

"Peter Jackson gave me these…" He fished out a bag of toffees. "And apparently I'm meant to chew them instead of smoking my pipe."

"But why?"

The wizard looked forlorn.

"Apparently the censors don't look too kindly on so many characters in this trilogy smoking, let alone the good guys."

"So if Sauron smoked it would be ok?"

The wizard shrugged.

"Probably."

Bilbo scowled.

"Bloody double standards."

Gandalf reached into his pocket and fished out a pipe and some tobacco weed.

"Hmm, well the props department has given me this, so I suppose New Line backed down." He lit up, and smoked in silent thought for a moment. "I suppose if we don't make smoking seem really cool and trendy then it'll be okay."

A pause.

"Wanna blow smoke rings?"

"You're on!"


	2. Piss Off, Dear Bilbo

_Thank you kindly to everyone who reviewed! It is always nerve-wracking entering a new fandom. I promise I will try to update this weekly (give or take a few days)._

**XX****X**

Later that evening, down in the Party Field below (as it was so aptly named) was held Bilbo's, well, party, wherein dear hobbits from all over the Shire were flocking towards the buffet table to get free cake and ice cream, whilst Gandalf's fireworks exploded in the sky above.

Samwise Gamgee, who had never seen a buffet so fine in his life, promptly jumped the queue and ate everything in sight. And still he bitched and moaned for more food. Bilbo rolled his eyes, and went to order takeaway.

Stumbling back towards the bar, the fat hobbit ordered several shots of vodka and downed them in startling succession. Through bleary eyes, he saw the comely figure of one Rosie Cotton, shaking her fine booty on the dance floor.

Frodo came over, and sat down, saying: "Go on Sam! Ask Rosie for a dance."

"Umm, no," said the fat hobbit, tearing his eyes away. "I think I'll just have another vodka."

Frodo laughed. "Oh no you don't. Go on!" And he pushed Sam onto the dance floor towards Rosie, who took him up on the offer and began to dance with him. Frodo laughed. Then his expression turned sour.

Sam had thrown up on the dance floor.

Gandalf meanwhile set off another firework, and watched it soar into the sky, fail to explode, then fall amidst a clump of nearby houses, explode, and set the whole street on fire. He glanced about conspiratorially, and then shuffled off to hide in the port-a-loos.

Bilbo was sat nearby, with a paperback copy of _The Hobbit_ on his lap, reading to all the cute little hobbit children. He had a whole stack of copies on the table next to him, where Frodo was resignedly signing autographs for a very long queue (and at a reasonable price).

"Bilbo?" he said presently, signing _Baggins _once more with a flourish. "Why are you charging for these? I thought you had tons of money from your travels?"

"Ah yes, well, you know I had to buy back tons of things from the auction, and then there was all the new clothes and the dinner parties, not to mention the hot tub…" He reached into the folds of his jacket and stole a gulp from his flask of brandy. "I suppose I had less then I initially thought." He screwed the cap back on and looked about shiftily.

Frodo raised an eyebrow.

"Bilbo, can I see that flask a minute?"

"No. Why? What's wrong with it?" He leapt to his feet. "I don't have a problem! Who says I have a problem? What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

The next moment there was a jarring chord of music. Frodo and Bilbo both turned towards the source of the noise, expecting company, but nobody came. Frodo shrugged and looked back at the red faced hobbit in alarm.

"I… think you might have a problem, Bilbo."

The hobbit shook his head.

"Nonsense, I don't have an addictive personality!"

And then he bustled off to go drool over his Ring in private, on a totally unrelated matter.

**XX****X**

Later that night, when the buffet was finished, (much to Sam's chagrin) and the birthday cake was being served, (much to Sam's delight) two mischievous hobbits named Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took had snuck away from the crowds and were busy pilfering Gandalf's fireworks.

"Quickly!" hissed Merry, helping Pippin climb into the wizard's cart to reach them. Pippin picked one up. "No, no. The big one!"

He picked up one that was about eight feet long. They looked at each other and grinned.

"Merry?"

"Yes Pippin?"

"Do you think Gandalf is trying to make up for something?"

They both sniggered. Two minutes later they had snuck the huge firework inside a tent and lit it. Horror filled their faces.

"You're supposed to stick it in the ground!" hissed Merry.

"It is in the ground."

"Outside!"

"This was your idea!"

There was a strange stuttering sound. They both looked down, eyes agape.

"Pippin?"

"Yes?"

"Is the firework… _upside down_?"

"No!" Pippin folded his arms. "How dumb do you think I am?"

There was a rumbling sound. Sparks began flying in all directions.

"Okay," he conceded, "maybe it _is _upside down…"

"Run, you idiot!"

And they both fled out of the tent, screaming like sissies. There was a huge shudder and a blast, and in true Hollywood style they were both hurled through the air and bowled right into a rather agitated wizard, who was in the middle of eating a slice of birthday cake.

They all climbed back to their feet, covered in frosting. There was a huge smoking crater where the tent used to be.

"So," said Merry, "wanna go play Twister?"

**XX****X**

It was time for The Speech of the evening. Everyone was so full of food and drink by this point, they were ready to listen to anything, and cheer at everything.

Bilbo climbed up onto the stage.

"YAY!"

He smiled.

"HOORAY!"

And cleared his throat.

"WOOT!"

And gave them all a rather suspicious look.

"ALRIGHT!"

"I hate you all," he said.

"BRAVO!"

"Ha," he said, grinning. "Gotcha!"

Their faces fell. Damn.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins! Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles and Proudfoots."

Dead silence. Bilbo frowned.

"You can cheer now."

"Ooh right."

He waved off their thunderous applause and catcalls.

"Today is my 111th birthday!" he cried.

"Well duh."  
**  
** "Alas," said Bilbo, "eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits."

"Damn straight!"

"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

"Come again?"

"Umm yeah." Bilbo put a hand in his pocket. Frodo frowned. "I'm gonna go now. I've put this off for far too long, mainly cause I wanted to milk you for all the birthday presents. Stupid hobbit traditions. Anyways, just wanted to say, before I go." He raised his finger, and gave them a malicious smirk. "Swivel on it punks!"

And then he vanished.

**XX****X**

Quickly, Bilbo ran all the way back to Bag End, but not before sneaking to the Green Dragon and taking quite generously from their beer barrels. He really did have a problem you know. When he got inside the door he took off the Ring, flipped it into the air and slipped it back into his pocket.

"I suppose you think that was terribly clever," said Gandalf.

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin. The wizard was sitting on the table, with his arms folded crossly.

"Well, yes," he said. "Terribly, terribly clever." He stuck his nose up in the air, and marched off to go pack his things.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"There are many magic rings in this world Bilbo Baggins and none of them should be used lightly."

"Oh, says you!" Bilbo marched over, and pulled up Gandalf's shirt. The wizard's ring was currently pierced through his navel.

"What?" said Gandalf, pulling his shirt back down. "It makes me look ten years younger!"

Bilbo just snorted.

"You will keep an eye on Frodo, won't you?"

Gandalf nodded.

"Two eyes, as often as I can spare them."

Bilbo smiled.

"I'm leaving everything to him."**  
**  
"What about this Ring of yours, is that staying too?"

"Yes, yes. It's in an envelope over there on the mantelpiece." He stopped a moment. "No, wait, it's here in my pocket." He took it out, and looked hard at it. "Heh, isn't that, isn't that odd though? Yet, after all why not? Why shouldn't I keep it?"

"Cause, we need to drive the narrative along."

"We do?"

"Yes. It is a nine hour film trilogy you know."

Bilbo frowned.

"But I thought this story was about _me_!"

Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"Tough. Until someone gives up the rights to _The Hobbit_, this is the most screen time you are getting."

Bilbo folded his arms and sulked.

"It's always the way isn't it? Go on a rollercoaster of an adventure with a wizard and a bunch of dwarves to slay a dragon, and you get stepped all over in favour of a story about an evil Ring! Ooh, a piece of gold melded into a band is _so _scary! I mean, does no one want to hear how I single handedly slayed three trolls? Or how I put a spell of enchantment upon Smaug? Or of my brave and valiant deeds in the Battle of Five Armies? Noo, they wanna hear about poor, useless Frodo Baggins! At least _I _was able to avoid being stabbed, and at least _I _was able to freely give up the Ring! I mean, I never had someone like Sam to…"

Gandalf sighed, and put the hobbit's walking stick into his hand. Then he opened the front door and stood there, tapping his foot impatiently.

"…and _I _never got to meet tons of beautiful elf women who were stepping over themselves to give me gifts, and-"

"Bilbo!"

"Yes?"

"Just give up the Ring. You've made your bloody point."

With a frown, Bilbo reached into his pocket and took out the aforementioned evil piece of gold melded into a band.

"This is like my biggest scene in this trilogy Gandalf, so I wanna make it worthwhile." And he stood there, gazing down at the Ring, whilst his face went through an amazingly meticulous kaleidoscope of emotions, (just to demonstrate his acting range, in the chance that The Hobbit would be made into a motion picture in the future) from anger, to sadness, to happiness, to shock, to fear and to ambivalence.

Meanwhile, Gandalf had bustled off to go take a long bath. He appeared back in the room and plopped down in an armchair, with a mug of cocoa in his hand and a pair of fluffy slippers on his feet. After what seemed an eternity, Bilbo let the Ring slip from his palm. It hit the floor with an overly dramatic BOOM!

The hobbit turned away, and walked towards the door. Then he remembered something, and stepped back in.

"I've thought of an ending for my book," he said, smiling. "_And he lived happily ever after to the end of his_ _days_."

Gandalf frowned.

"It's not very original."

"Oh shut up, Dumbledore!"

Gandalf scowled.

"Lord of the Rings was written _before_ Harry Potter I'll have you know."

"Nonsense," said Bilbo. "Everyone knows Lord of the Rings was written by Peter Jackson."

Gandalf slapped himself in the forehead.

"Just go!"

Bilbo stepped out of the door, into the night. At the end of the path, he paused a moment, and then headed left.

"Bilbo!"

The hobbit jumped.

"Rivendell is to the right. That path leads to the Green Dragon."

Bilbo turned back, grinning.

"Ooh right, of course it is."

And he reluctantly set off to the left. Gandalf made a note to get Elrond to call an intervention, once the hobbit reached Rivendell.

**XX****X**

So, with the dear old Bilbo bundled off to an elven AA meeting, Gandalf sat and mused for a while, staring into the fireplace, drawing on his pipe in an angst-filled way.

"_Riddles in the Dark_," he muttered.

Frodo came in.

"What did you just say Gandalf?"

The wizard waved a hand.

"I was just randomly quoting chapter titles."

"Ooh, can I join in?"

"Go nuts."

He puffed out his chest.

"Where is Bilbo? He just suddenly disappeared during _A Long-Expected Party_."

Frodo then noticed something, and bent down to pick up the Ring.

Gandalf smiled.

"He's gone to have _Many Meetings_ with the Elves. He's left you Bag End along with all his possessions." He held out an envelope, and Frodo put the Ring inside it. Gandalf then licked it shut, and gave it back to Frodo. "The Ring is yours now. Put it somewhere out of sight."

The wizard started to leave.

"Where are you going?" cried Frodo.

"I'm going to have _A Short Rest_, and then eat some _Roast Mutton_ whilst I go _Over Hill and Under Hill_ to get some _Inside Information_."

"Huh?"

He sighed.

"I'm going on an overly long quest to find out about the Ring, which will take seventeen years, but due to the magic cinema will seem but a few short scenes."  
**  
** Gandalf patted Frodo on the shoulder and gave him a wink.

"Keep it secret. Keep it safe."

Frodo's eyes widened.

"GANDALF!"

The wizard groaned.

"Would you _please_ not read sexual innuendo into every bloody line? Your uncle is bad enough!"

And he stormed out, still dressed in his bathrobe and slippers. Frodo opened his mouth for a moment, purposing to point this out to the wizard, and then shrugging, he shut the door, with half a mind to go and sample Bilbo's wine barrels.


	3. The Dropping of Eaves

_Wow, thank you guys so much! •_hands out cyber cookies_• Been ill this week, so managed to get this chapter finished a little sooner. Enjoy!_

**XXX**

Somewhere in the dungeons of Barad-dûr, a rather wretched creature called Gollum was being tortured. Amidst his screams, the sobs of depressed fangirls could be heard.

"Why?" they cried. "Why Tolkien? Why did you only let the ugly characters get tortured?"

And some of them continued to cry, whilst others took up signs and staged a protest outside Mordor, chanting: "One, two, three, four! Gollum torture is a bore! Five, six, seven, eight! Strider torture would be great!"

Sauron, watching from his tower, ordered the fangirls to be driven away with water hoses. Dripping wet and sulking, they marched off and decided to go find Strider and torture him themselves.

From Minas Morgul, Black Riders set forth, heading for the Shire.

**XXX**

Gandalf rode in rather a big hurry to the city of Minas Tirith. No-one was very welcoming on arrival. They seemed to be running about, toting fire extinguishers, and a man was hurled out of a window and fell right at Gandalf's feet amidst an almighty crash of glass.

He stood up and dusted himself off. Then, without so much as a shrug, ran back towards the building he had been thrown out of, crying: "I knew you cared, father!"

**XXX**

Down into the deepest vaults Gandalf was led, and he set to poring over innumerable scrolls and papers, with a nip of rum from his flask to keep his wits about him.

"_dear diary_," he read. "_Dis is Isildoor. I found liek this really ebil ring. It's so shiny and purdy. Elrond showted at me 2 throw it away, but i ran away and hid it in my rooM. Its mine! And no one elzes. Ooh yer, and i accidentally dropped it in der fiar, and it got deese cul writing on eet. I reached into der fiar 2 get it owt, but set my sleeve on fiar. Now I have a boo boo. Isildoor is sad :("_

Gandalf groaned, downed the entire flask, and promptly passed out.

**XXX**

In the dead of night, an unimportant hobbit was chopping firewood, for reasons absolutely no-one understood. Suddenly his dog began barking. The hobbit, startled by the noise, missed the piece of wood he was aiming for, and a mournful cry was heard, followed by a loud thud.

"Oops," said the hobbit, "sorry Lassie."

Looking up, he saw a Black Rider coming down the lane. It stopped in front of him and hissed: "Shire. Baggins."

"Huh?"

"Shire," it hissed again. "Baggins."

"I'm sorry, sir," said the hobbit, "but I'm a little hard of hearing. You'll have to speak up."

The Black Rider yelled: "I'm looking for a Mr. Baggins who lives in the Shire! Jesus! You hobbits are such idiots!"

"Ah," said the hobbit, grinning, "you're wanting Mr. Baggins then! He lives in the Shire!"

And the Black Rider just groaned, reached over, grabbed the axe out of the hobbit's hand, and chopped off the miserable creature's head.

"Damn extras," he muttered, galloping off.

**XXX**

Despite finding a large proportion of their beer barrels mysteriously empty that week, business at the Green Dragon was booming. And it was about 2am when they finally managed to offload the last stray partygoers and shut the doors for the night. Among these aforementioned partygoers were the slightly intoxicated Messurs Baggins and Gamgee, who stumbled out onto the doorstep of the tavern still clutching their half-drunken pitchers of ale, and arguing about a topic of which they had had no recollection for the past three hours.

"Yeah, well," said Sam, sloshing his beer over Frodo, "yo mama!"

Frodo just passed out.

At the door, framed by the light from within the tavern, there stood Rosie, smiling.

"Goodnight!" she called.

"Goodnight," said Sam, throwing her a hasty salute. And not looking where he was walking, he promptly tripped over the unconscious Frodo.

"Ow."

**XXX**

After getting lost three times, having a drunken fight, and falling into a ditch, Frodo and Sam finally made it home. Frodo walked up to his front door and found it ajar. Stepping into the darkness of Bag End, he suddenly felt a hand upon his shoulder.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed. Turning around, he saw that it was Gandalf. "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Quiet Frodo!" said the wizard. "Tell me - is it secret? Is it safe?"

The hobbit's eyes widened.

"Gandalf!" he gasped. "Well I never! You can't just come barging into my house spouting innuendos like that!" He collapsed into a chair.

The wizard nursed a rather painful hangover, and quietly said: "The Ring! Where is it?"

"Oh!"

And the hobbit got up, and scrambled over to a nearby chest. After emptying its contents, he found a key. Scurrying over to his desk, he unlocked a drawer and searched through it. Finding another key, he opened the other drawer and pulled out a third key. With this he opened a cupboard, and got out another key.

Gandalf went to go and make a very strong cup of coffee.

**XXX**

Four hours later, after going back and forth between the livingroom, the bedroom, the pantry, the kitchen, the sitting room, the bathroom, the reading room, the frontroom, the dungeon and the hallway, Frodo came back wielding a broom, and poked at a panel in the ceiling. He then climbed up on a ladder and brought down a box. Within this box lay the envelope containing the Ring.

"FINALLY!"

And Gandalf promptly grabbed the envelope and threw it in the fire.

"What are you doing?" gasped Frodo.

The wizard picked up a pair of tongs, and after a moment, retrieved the Ring from the fire.

"Hold out your hand Frodo," he said. "It's quite cool." He dropped the Ring into Frodo's hand.

The hobbit's face went a drastic shade of white. He then began to dance around the room, clutching his hand and screaming: "Hot! Hot! Hot!"

Gandalf dunked his coffee on Frodo. The hobbit just glared at him.

"What can you see?" asked Gandalf, gesturing to the Ring. "Can you see anything?"

"Nothing," said Frodo. "There's nothing... wait. There are markings! It's some form of elvish. I can't read it."

Gandalf frowned.

"There are few who can. The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here. Anyways, I'm pretty rusty."

"Mordor?"

The wizard nodded.

"In the common tongue it says, '_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them_.'"

"Neat."

**XXX**

They both sat down and drank some tea, as you do when you realize you have in your possession the root of all evils.

"This is the One Ring," said Gandalf, "forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom. Taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself."

Frodo was pouring tea, and listening so intently he poured it all over the table. Oblivious he said: "Bilbo found it. In Gollum's cave."

"Yes. For sixty years the Ring lay quiet in Bilbo's keeping, prolonging his life, delaying old age. But no longer Frodo. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The Ring has awoken. It's heard its master's call."  
**  
** Frodo frowned. "But he was destroyed. Sauron was destroyed."

"Pfft," said the Ring, "you wish."

They both looked over at the Ring, alarmed.

"No, Frodo. The spirit of Sauron endured. His life force is bound to the Ring and the Ring survived. Sauron has returned. His orcs have multiplied. His fortress of Barad-dûr is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. Sauron needs only this Ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness. He is seeking it. Seeking it, all his thought is bent on it. The Ring yearns above all else to return to the hand of its master. They are one, the Ring and the Dark Lord. Frodo, he must never find it."

Frodo was nodding intently.

The wizard sighed.

"You didn't understand a word I just said, did you?"

"Not a one."

Gandalf groaned.

"Okay. Sauron made this Ring, and he is bound to its fate. It is evil. While it survives, he survives… got it?"

The hobbit shook his head.

Gandalf tried not to scream.

"Okay," he said, picking up the salt. "This is Sauron, okay?" He picked up the pepper. "This is the Ring."

Frodo frowned.

"Shouldn't the Ring be the Ring?"

"DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THE BLOODY PLOT OR NOT?"

"Fine," said Frodo. "Plot away!"

And Gandalf went into a rather lengthy rendition of the defeat of Sauron and of the fate of the Ring of Power, using everything from knives and forks to pieces of cheese to represent different characters.

"….and so the Ring came to you!" said Gandalf, collapsing into his chair, breathless from his very thorough plot exposition.

"I have one question," said Frodo.

Gandalf tried to keep himself from exploding.

"Yes?"

"Who's Sauron?"

The resulting scream was heard in Valinor.

**XXX**

Once Frodo had finally grasped the situation, he began to freak out mightily.

"Alright," he said, darting back and forth, trying to find his ladder. "We put it away. We keep it hidden. We never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they? Do they Gandalf?"

"Sorry kiddo. Gollum blabbed." And the wizard put on a screechy voice and said: "_Shire! Baggins!"_

"Shire… Baggins… But that will lead them here!"

"Well duh."

**XXX**

On a violent rampage, the Black Rider galloped towards Hobbiton, and sliced off another hobbit head. He'd ended up beating the location of Baggins out of someone. The world was full of idiots.

**XXX**

Meanwhile, back in Bag End:

"Take it Gandalf!" cried Frodo. "Take it!"

"No Frodo."

"You must take it!"

"You cannot offer me this Ring!"

"I'm bloody well giving it to you!" yelled Frodo. "I'll even get it gift-wrapped I swear!"

"Don't tempt me Frodo!" hissed Gandalf. "I dare not take it. Not even to keep it safe. Understand Frodo, I would use this Ring from the desire to do good. But through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine."

"So? It would be a good laugh."

Gandalf pounded his head off the wall.

"Do I need to explain this all to you again?"

"Nah," said the hobbit, "let's just find some idiot to take the Ring out of the Shire."

There was silence.

"Ah screw it," said Frodo. "I'll go."

**XXX**

The hobbit hurriedly packed for his journey.

"You must leave," said Gandalf. "And leave quickly."

"Where? Where do I go?"

"Get out of the Shire."

"Yes, we've already established that…"

Gandalf thought a moment.

"Make for the village of Bree."

"Bree," he repeated. "What about you?"

"I'll be waiting for you, at the Inn of the Prancing Pony."

"Gandalf, this is hardly the time to be going down the pub..."

The wizard shrugged.

"Maybe we can shirk the Ring off on some drunken Breelander."

Frodo nodded.

"Good idea. And the Ring will be safe there?"

"I don't know Frodo."

"Well you're just a well of knowledge, aren't you?"

Gandalf shook his head.

"I don't have any answers. I must see the head of my order. He is both wise and powerful. Trust me Frodo, he'll know what to do. You'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire. Travel only by day. And stay off the road."

Frodo picked up his walking stick, and donned a sunhat.

"I can cut across country easily enough," he said.

Gandalf suddenly smiled.

"My dear Frodo. Hobbits really are amazing creatures! You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years, they can still surprise you."

Suddenly there was a rustling outside the window. They both exchanged a glance.

"Don't mind me!" said a voice. "I'm just a lowly bush, rustling in the wind. Wooo!" And the talking bush suddenly began to imitate a ghost. Gandalf rolled his eyes, and pulled Samwise Gamgee out of the foliage and in through the window.

"Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee! Have you been eavesdropping?"

Sam shook and stuttered: "I haven't been droppin' no eves sir, honest. I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you follow me."

"Then why have we not heard the sound of your lawnmower in hours?"

Sam thought quickly.

"Well sir, it ran out of fuel you see, and being as loyal to Mr. Frodo as I am, well, I'm ashamed to say I started trimming it with my teeth."

Frodo and Gandalf exchanged a look.

"Seriously," said Sam, and he opened his mouth to reveal a wad of half-chewed grass.

"I'm not surprised," said Frodo. "You'll eat anything Sam."

The fat hobbit eyed the Ring on the table.

"No, Sam!"

"What did you hear?" asked Gandalf. "Speak!"

Sam barked.

Frodo groaned.

"N-n-n-nothing important," said Sam. "That is I heard a good deal about a Ring and a Dark Lord and something about the end of the world but… please, Mister Gandalf sir, don't hurt me. Don't turn me into anythin'… unnatural."

"No," said Gandalf. "Perhaps not. I have thought of a better use for you…"

"Ooh, what is it? Chocolate taster? Assistant at the Playboy mansion?"

Gandalf just knowingly smiled.

**XXX**

"Luggage carrier? Oh come on!"

Gandalf swung his staff at the fat hobbit toting all of Frodo's suitcases. He ducked just in time.

"Come along Samwise, keep up!" The three stumbled along in the dim light, and entered a nearby forest. "Be careful both of you. The enemy has many spies in his service; birds, beasts."

An owl alighted on a nearby tree. Gandalf produced a shotgun and blasted it off its perch. The hobbits gaped at him in horror.

He shrugged.

"Better to be safe than sorry." He turned to Frodo. "Is it safe?" A gasp. "I mean the _Ring!_"

"Ooh right. Yes indeedy." He patted his pocket. His face dropped. "Wait a minute." He went through all his pockets. "Oh barnacles, I coulda sworn I brought it with me…"

Sam suddenly coughed. Something hit the ground. Frodo bent down and picked up a saliva-covered Ring.

"Sam, did you just try and eat the Ring?"

"I was _hungry_!"

Gandalf suddenly felt the need to pray.

"Never put it on," he told Frodo, indicating the Ring, "for the agents of the Dark Lord will be drawn to its power. Always remember, Frodo, the Ring is trying to get back to its master. It wants to be found."

"Damn straight," said the Ring.

And Gandalf got on his horse and galloped off, in an extremely majestic and film worthy manner, with a huge swell of orchestral music, whilst many shed a tear at the beauty of the moving picture.

Then he came back, and said: "Oops, forgot my hat."

He shuffled off once more. Both Sam and Frodo sweatdropped.


	4. A Coverup of Tolkienesque Proportions

_Once again, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. And I welcome new reviewers with cookies_ •grins widely•

_This chapter introduces my quite strange obsession with pie (I don't know why such an article of food is so amusing to me) and the soon-to-be infamous Samwise Gamgee buffet jokes. Beware all ye who enter here..._

**XXX**

So began the adventures of Frodo and Sam, who trekked through forest, country and hitchhiked wherever appropriate. Suddenly they had reached a cornfield.

"This is it," said Sam, suddenly stopping.

"This is what?" asked Frodo.

"It."

He groaned.

"Yes, I know it's it, I mean what do you mean by it?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind." They both kept going. "Now Sam, let me randomly quote some of the book, just to distract the purists from the absence of Fatty Bolger_: 'It's a dangerous business Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.'_"

And they skipped merrily on, whilst a Black Rider watched them in the distance, arms folded in a sulk.

"Why can't I attack them now?" he whined.

"Cause," said Jackson, "we need to establish you as these really evil killing machines and then completely ruin your integrity by having you mistake a bunch of pillows for some hobbits, not to mention the ass kicking you'll be getting from a certain elf maiden."

The Black Rider raised an eyebrow.

"Elf maiden? I know Glorfindel is pretty feminine, but he's not exactly a maiden."

"Ooh, yes." Jackson laughed nervously. "Silly me: slip of the tongue."

The Black Rider raised the other eyebrow.

"You haven't replaced Glorfindel have you? That poor guy gets replaced in every single adaptation of this story. The purists will skin you alive!"

"Of course I haven't replaced him!" He fidgeted a bit. "Excuse me a minute."

And he shuffled off to bolster his security force for the premiere.

**XXX**

Gandalf rode to Isengard to see his old friend Saruman. The journey was a long and rather boring affair, and on the way he was assaulted by someone called Radagast, who kept insisting that he was the wizard's cousin. Gandalf just gave him a penny and rode away, giving him a very queer look.

Finally, he rode into Isengard, and made towards the tower of Orthanc. Saruman the White descended the steps before it. He was dressed in robes of grey (ironically enough), and had teeth so bad they could rival the Mouth of Sauron for dentist bills. His long flowing hair and beard stirred slightly in the breeze, and he bore a tall staff, alighted with the spikes of Orthanc. He liked his accessories to match.

"Smoke rises from the mountain of Doom," he said. "The hour grows late and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my counsel." (Talk about subtle plot narration folks). "For that is why you have come, is it not...my old friend?"

Gandalf simply said: "Saruman."

The white wizard raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, that is my name."

"Forgive me," said Gandalf, smiling, "but I had to say such an incredibly stupid and unnecessary line in order for the audience to catch your name."

"But aren't there like 50 billion characters in this trilogy? They're hardly gonna remember one name. Let's be honest. The average cinema goer these days actually thinks reality TV is _entertaining_."

Gandalf frowned.

"I see your point. Very well, I shall repeat your name again, just so it is imprinted in the audience's minds." And he took a deep breath and yelled: "SARUMAN!"

The white wizard wiped saliva from his face.

"That better?" asked Gandalf, grinning.

"Hmmm," said Saruman, "I better wear a nametag, just to be safe."

And so the Leader of the Istari donned a sticker saying: "Hello! My name is Saruman. Ask me about our pies!"

**XXX**

"You are sure of this?"

"Beyond any doubt."

"So the bad guy turns out to be Quirrell and not Snape?"

Gandalf shook his head, as Saruman buried his nose into a copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

"If you actually bothered to learn to read, I wouldn't have to tell you how the bloody thing ends."

Saruman stuck out his tongue.

"I never could get past those Dick and Tracey books. '_See Smeagol. See Smeagol run. Run Smeagol run._'" He made the motion of his hand passing over his head, and gave a low whistle.

"Honestly," said Gandalf, "I wonder sometimes how you ever became the head of our Order."

"Because of my looks of course." He grinned a toothy grin.

Gandalf shook his head.

"Are we ever gonna discuss the Ring?" He got no answer, and promptly snatched up the book and threw it away.

Saruman folded his arms, and went in a huff.

"The Ring of Power has been found," he grunted.

Gandalf nodded. "All these long years it was in the Shire, under my very nose."

"Then I'm not surprised you didn't see it. Your nose is larger than Samwise Gamgee after he has eaten a buffet."

"But we still have time," said Gandalf, "time enough to counter Sauron if we act quickly."

"Time?" Saruman snorted. "What time do you think we have?"

Gandalf looked at his watch.

"I make it just turned noon."

Saruman stormed off to his tower, muttering: "I don't know why I even bother…"

**XXX**

They entered Saruman's chamber, which was lined with books, scrolls, jars of varying shapes and sizes and many Instruments of Doom. In the centre stood a pedestal, and atop this was an orb, covered in a dark cloth.

"A palantír is a dangerous tool, Saruman," said Gandalf, guessing what it was.

"Why? Why should we fear to use it?"

He threw the cloth aside, and revealed the glowing orb of the palantír. Gandalf's eyes widened.

"They are not all accounted for," he hissed, "the lost Seeing Stones. We do not know who else may be watching!"

He threw the blanket over the palantír again. The Eye of Sauron flashed briefly in its surface. The blanket caught fire. Saruman grabbed a fire extinguisher and bashed Gandalf on the head with it.

"The hour is later than you think," he said. "Sauron's forces are already moving. The Five have left Minas Morgul."

Gandalf coughed as he nursed the growing bump upon his head.

"Don't you mean the Nine?"

Saruman blushed.

"Hey," he said, wagging a finger, "who's the head of the Order, huh? If I say there are five of them, then there are five! Got it?"

Gandalf shrugged: "Whatever."

"Good," said Saruman, crossing his arms. "They crossed the River Isen on Midsummer's Eve, disguised as Dementors. They will find the Ring and kill the one who carries it."

And then Gandalf realised the danger that the hobbit was in, and cried: "Frodo!"

He made for the doors, but they promptly slammed shut in his face. He turned back to look at Saruman.

"I think there's a draft in here." Frowning, he walked over to the window, and pulled it shut. Saruman slapped his forehead.

"You did not seriously think," he said, "that a hobbit could contend with the will of Sauron? There are none who can, so get over it. We must join with him, Gandalf. We must join with Sauron. It would be wise, my friend."

Gandalf snorted.

"Not really. Sauron is really quite evil you know." He began to fiddle with Saruman's Instruments of Doom. The wizard scowled, and snatched them away from him.

"That is the point!" he said. "We should join with Sauron, and we will become as dark and powerful as you could ever imagine!"

Gandalf did not answer, instead walking over and plonking himself on Saruman's throne.

"Ooh," he said, "comfy."

Saruman screamed in rage, and shot off a huge blazing sphere of fire, which ricocheted off the walls, and went flying out of the window. A few miles away, Radagast the Brown was stopped short as he looked at the smouldering pile of ash where his horse had once been.

"I am trying to instigate a clever plot twist here! Could you at least _pretend_ to be horribly betrayed by my words?"

Gandalf frowned.

"What are you trying to tell me Saruman?"

The white wizard screamed.

"That's it! PG-13 can go to hell!" And he walked over and smacked Gandalf over the head with his staff. Then he grabbed the guy's own staff, and set him spinning on the floor. "I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly. But you have elected the way of pain!"

And he sent Gandalf flying towards the pinnacle of Orthanc, but was just slightly ticked off to hear the aforementioned wizard crying: "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Saruman collapsed into his throne with a sigh.

"This is doing nothing for my image."

**XXX**

Sam was confused, and Sam was worried. And so an extremely confused and worried Sam began jogging between the huge stalks of corn, wondering how in all of Arda he had winded up on the set of the Wizard of Oz.

"Mister Frodo?" he cried. "Frodo? FRODO?"

"What?"

Sam jumped fifty feet into the air. When he landed, Frodo was standing there looking befuddled.

"I thought I'd lost you," explained the fat hobbit.

"What are you talking about?" said Frodo. "I was standing right behind you."

Mr. Gamgee shrugged.

"It's just something Gandalf said."

Frodo panicked.

"What did he say? I swear those pictures are faked! I wasn't even at that party! Just ask Lobelia!"

Sam was taken aback.

"You were with Lobelia?"

"Um, yes. We were playing checkers." A glare. "I-I mean, what did Gandalf say?"

"_'Don't you lose him Samwise Gamgee!'_ And I don't mean to."

Frodo laughed. "Sam, we're still in the Shire. What could possibly happen?"

And then they became aware of a huge roaring sound, which was becoming louder and louder. Then, from amidst the Oz-like stalks of corn, two young hobbits came running, and smacked right into Frodo and Sam. Everyone tumbled to the floor, with many a flying cabbage.

"You idiots!" scowled Frodo, getting up and dusting off his pants. "Look where you're bloody well going!"

But the two hobbits, who had turned out to be Merry and Pippin, had no time to talk. They promptly ran off, squealing like girls. Sam and Frodo exchanged a WTF? look. And that was when they heard the roaring sound again, and slowly, achingly, they turned around, and saw the corn being ripped down before their eyes.

"TRACTOR!" they screamed, and plunged after Merry and Pippin, but not without grabbing up the delicious vegetables they had left. They were, after all, hungry hobbits.

Shortly afterwards though, all four hobbits promptly fell off the edge of a conveniently placed cliff.

"Ow!" said Merry, who had three hobbits lying on top of him. "I think I've broken something." He pulled out a ruined carrot.

"Y'know what?" said Pippin. "This scene would bring hobbit fangirls a whole lot of pleasure." And, as if realizing this, they all scrambled off each other lickety split.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took!" muttered Sam.

"What?" said Merry. "That was just a detour, a shortcut."

"A shortcut to what?"

"Mushrooms!" cried Pippin, spotting a patch of the tasty fungi. They all scrambled over and began to pick some, whilst Jackson sat in his director's chair, with a huge smug smile on his face.

"That should keep the book purists happy," he said to himself. "At least until Movie!Arwen arrives..."

Frodo was the only one not fawning over the delicious mushrooms. He stood silent, gazing into the near distance, and like the party pooper he was he said: "I think we should get off the road."

Eerie sounds were heard. Frodo began to panic.

"Get off the road! Quick!"

And with many a curse and a nibble of vegetables, all four hobbits hid down in the hollow of a tree, whose branches hung over the road. The sound of hoofs was heard. They all became silent, as something sinister loomed nearby.

Then a jolly laugh broke the silence, and a huge red face hung down and beamed at the hobbits.

"Hail friends!"

Tom Bombadil climbed down off his pony, and stood there with his thumbs in his breeches. He wore a queer feathered hat.

"Um, sorry?"

Tom frowned.

"It's me Tom Bombadil!"

They all looked at each other.

"Aww come on. Remember the Old Forest?... Old Man Willow?... The Barrow Downs?"

They all just sat there, staring at Tom as though he had grown another head.

"I'm sorry," said Frodo, taking charge. "We must be on our way. Good day, Mr. Bumble."

"It's Bombadil!" He watched as they gathered up their vegetables and trotted off with haste. "Don't you recognise me? Buddies? Pals? What is going on?" He began to cry, and fell to the floor, smacking at the dirt with his fists. "This cannot be happening! I am an integral part of the book dammit!"

Presently Jackson walked over, and covered the crying Bombadil with a blanket. Fatty Lumpkin was led away. Mr. Bombadil was stashed inside a closet. Two men wearing dark suits and sunglasses were put on guard, and whenever someone came down the road all they would utter was: "Jackson is god. Move it along."

A few minutes later, the hobbits actually did encounter a Black Rider. Strangely though, they did not find him quite so scary as Tom Bombadil.

**XXX**

Night fell upon the land, hard and swift, like, well, night falling. A Nazgûl continued to search for the hobbits, but with a less than stellar attitude. He was now on hour twelve of a four hour shift. You do the math.

In the thickets below, the hobbits crept like mice. Frodo went first, to check the coast was clear.

"Anything?" whispered Pippin.

"Nothing."

"What is going on?"

Merry trudged forwards, and stamped his foot with a scowl.

"That Black Rider was looking for something… or someone. Frodo?"

"Hey, don't look at me!" cried the hobbit. "I, er, I mean, Sam… Sam owes his money. Yes, that's it!"

The fat hobbit frowned.

"Do I?"

Frodo smacked him.

"Ooh yes. Yes. I lost to him at poker!"

Pippin was intrigued.

"How much did you lose?"

"Umm, 400 thousand dollars."

Frodo slapped himself in the forehead.

"Get down!" cried Sam, and they all got down. Looking up, they saw the Nazgûl promptly ride away.

"I have to leave the Shire," said Frodo. "Sam and I must get to Bree."

Merry nodded. "Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me."

**XXX**

Hours later, the hobbits, creeping through the forest, had reached the Brandywine River, and the little ferry which bobbed in its waters.

Sam was relieved: "WE MADE IT!" he yelled, punching a fist in the air.

They all glared at him.

"We're trying to be stealthy here!" they hissed.

And from amidst the bushes there came a shriek. A Nazgûl came galloping up, looking extremely pissed. The hobbits ran for their lives, all except Frodo, who was on the receiving end of the horse's wrath. He received a rather painful kick in the face for his troubles, and went flying about two dozen yards and landed, quite conveniently, on the deck of Buckleberry Ferry.

The others soon made it to the small craft too, and quickly cast off, whilst Merry moaned about a huge splinter in his foot, which turned out to be the size of a toothpick. A very small toothpick. Pippin laughed at him, and Merry shoved him into the Brandywine River.

The Nazgûl, meanwhile, stopped short of the water and then gave an enraged scream.

"That's it" he yelled. "I'm sick of the lousy hours and the crooked union. I QUIT!"

And he stormed off, and presently Peter Jackson was seen cycling after him, calling: "We need you for the rest of the trilogy! How else will a whiney and bitchy Éowyn redeem herself to the audience?"

Meanwhile the hobbits rowed to the next bank for all they were worth. A rather sexy ranger was waiting for them in Bree, and wherever he was, crazed fan girls were sure to follow.


	5. The Very Real Dangers of Smoking

_Hehe. Now my favourite ranger comes into ze picture ^^; Thanks muchly for the reviews everyone. Sorry that this chapter was a little late: I've been swamped by coursework._

**XXX**

It was raining. And it was wet. And some gratuitously wet and dripping hobbits were hiding in the bushes, with their hoods pulled over their faces, checking the coast was clear of rabid fangirls. Oh yeah, and those pesky Nazgûl.

"Come on," said Frodo, before running towards the gate. The others quickly forward.

He knocked on the gate, and after a moment, and a bit of fumbling, a pair of eyes was seen.

A gruff voice said: "What do you want?"

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony," said Frodo.

The gatekeeper came out and lifted his lantern.

"Hobbits!" he said. "Four hobbits!"

"Well done," said Sam, rolling his eyes. "You can count."

The gatekeeper grinned a toothless grin.

"Why thank you! I've been brushing up on my maths lately. So, what business brings you to Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn," said Frodo. "Our business is our own."

The gatekeeper tapped his nose.

"Ah, say no more sirs." He opened the gate, and let the hobbits pass. "You'll find what you're looking for just down that side street." He pointed to the left.

So the hobbits followed the gatekeeper's directions, and found themselves outside a brothel. Merry shrugged.

"Ah well. We can meet Gandalf in the morning."

Pippin nodded in agreement, and the two hobbits started towards the door, where many a comely hobbit lass was beckoning them inside. Rolling their eyes, Frodo and Sam grabbed them by the collars and dragged them back up the winding, cobbled road, past slanted houses and strange townsfolk. Everyone was awfully rude and unkempt. One stood chewing thoughtfully on a carrot, and glared at them.

Merry squinted.

"Don't I know you?"

The guy jumped and hid the carrot behind his back.

"Err, no, I'm just a lowly extra!"

Merry continued to stare after him as Sam steered him towards the Prancing Pony inn.

**XXX**

"Excuse me?" said Frodo, walking up to the front desk of the inn. Someone stood there, and promptly turned around, looked confused for a moment, then looked down.

"Good evening little masters!" The man who spoke was named Barliman Butterbur, and he had a round red face and a kindly smile. "If you're seeking accommodation we've got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available. Mr. uh-"

"-Underhill," interjected Frodo. "My name's Underhill."

"Underhill. Hmm. So I take it you live under a hill then?"

Frodo nodded.

"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey. Can you tell him we've arrived?"

Barliman rolled his eyes.

"Why can't you tell him your bloody selves?"

Frodo folded his arms.

"Just tell us he's missing so we can look all angsty."

Barliman scowled.

"Fine then. He's missing."

They all frowned. Butterbur went away, after satisfying himself that they were looking angsty enough.

"What do we do now?" asked Sam.

And so, as in all times of great need, the hobbits turned to drink to solve their problems.

**XXX**

They all sat about a high table in the common room, nursing jugs of ale. The place was smoky and stifling, and filled with drunken Breelanders. Frodo sat and pouted. He was the designated Ringbearer, and as such could not have any drink. The others were overcompensating in his absence. Pippin was so out of it that he had been caught swimming naked in the ale tanker. Now he sat shivering, and drinking a small jug of strong brew in order to sober up.

Frodo noticed that Sam was upset, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam. He'll be here. He'll come."

The fat hobbit just fainted head-first into his jug. Frodo sighed, and pulled him out before he drowned. Again.

Merry came over from the bar, carrying an overflowing tankard. He set it down on the table.

"What's that?" Pippin asked, in awe.

"This my friend," said Merry, "is a pint."

"It comes in pints?" asked Pippin. "I'm getting one." And he scrambled over to the bar.

"You had a whole half already!" Sam shook his head, then nudged Frodo, and nodded towards the corner.

"That fellow's done nothin' but stare at you since we arrived."

And Frodo raised his eyes cautiously. There in the corner sat a queer-looking man, wearing high boots of leather, his face covered by a hood, despite the heat of the room.

"Excuse me," said Frodo, taking Barliman aside. "That man in the corner, who is he?"

"Why can't you ask him your bloody…?" Frodo scowled. "I-I mean he's one of them rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard but around here, he's known as Strider."

"Strider..." repeated Frodo.

"Yes, _Strider_. Do you want me to write it down for you?"

The aforementioned Strider took a large drag of his pipe, and had a rather spectacular coughing fit, which slightly ruined his façade of evil. And then, to top it all off, he felt a prickly sensation of heat at the back of his neck, and realised his hood was on fire.

Frodo however, was far too distracted by the whisper of the Ring in his hands to notice the ranger running back and forth across the room, with great plumes of smoke issuing from beneath his hood, screaming for water.

"_Baggins!_" the Ring whispered. He jerked himself back to awareness, and realised that it was Pippin's voice.

"Sure I know a Baggins," said the hobbit, grinning. "He's over there." And he indicated Frodo to them. Sam slapped his forehead. "Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side." The men surrounding him laughed heartily. "And my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me."

Frodo got up and rushed over to the bar, intent on giving young Peregrin a good thrashing.

"Pippin!" Frodo lashed out, but the hobbit ducked his fist.

"Steady on!"

And it was in that moment that Frodo tripped over someone's foot, and fell backwards to the floor, the Ring flying spectacularly into the air and landing in perfect formation on his finger.

And with a gasp, he disappeared.

**XXX**

A few miles away, the Nazgûl felt the pull of the Ring. They turned around, and headed for Bree. So much for their lunch break.

**XXX**

There was an unearthly howling in his ears. Everything about him was covered in flame and shadow. The people about him merely spectres in the face of the Great Eye, lidless, and wreathed in flame. The Eye of Sauron. He backed away, terrified.

"You cannot hide!" whispered a voice. "Peek-a-boo!"

And, with a great effort, Frodo wrenched the Ring from his finger, and breathed the free air again.

A hand grabbed his collar.

"Ack!"

"You draw far too much attention to yourself Mr. 'Underhill'!" It was Strider, and he unceremoniously forced Frodo up the stairs and into his room. The hobbit eyed him carefully. He was dripping wet, and smoke rose from beneath his hood.

"What do you want?"

"A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing."

"Indeed."

Strider walked over to the window, and reached over to put out the candles there. But he hesitated, and decided to blow them out instead. They stayed alight.

"Err," said Frodo, "need some help?"

"No," he said, huffing and puffing with the effort. "I'll manage."

And in the end there was a huge crash of broken glass, as Strider hurled the still flaming candles out of the window.

"I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."

He pulled down his hood, and revealed a shaggy mane of dark hair, flecked with grey. His silver eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Who are you?" asked Frodo.

He smiled. "Are you frightened?"

The hobbit shrugged. "Not really."

"Awww," Strider pouted, "do I not come across as rascally and evil?"

"No," said Frodo. "You just look extremely hot."

"Damn."

The door burst open, and in rushed Sam, Merry and Pippin, ready for a tussle. Strider drew his sword.

"Let him go!" said Sam, fists at the ready, "or I'll have you Longshanks!" He paused a second. "Isn't your sword meant to be all broken and stuff?"

"Err, no." He sheathed it in a hurry. "Anyways, what the hell do you want? This is a private conversation."

Merry raised a hand.

"We're here for important plot exposition."

"Oh right." Strider pulled up a chair. "Gather around young friends, and, er, Sam, and hear the chilling tale of the Nazgûl!" Lightning flashed outside, and lit up his face eerily. "You can no longer wait for the wizard Frodo. They're coming."

**XXX**

And come they, er, came. They crashed right through the gates of Bree and crushed the gatekeeper, and terrified Barliman so badly he soiled himself as they made for the hobbit's room.

Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.

Four little dead hobbits. But then they pulled back the covers, and found four little dead pillows.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

**XXX**

Safe in Strider's room, the hobbits sat up in bed, listening to the screams of the Nazgûl in their anger. Strider sat, staring out of the window, looking very angsty.

"What are they?" asked Frodo.

He sighed.

"They were once men. Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead."

"So they're like zombies?"

"No."

"But-"

"SAMWISE GAMGEE, THEY ARE NOT ZOMBIES!"

"Are they vampires?" asked Merry.

"Or teenage mutant ninja turtles?"

"THEY ARE NOT ZOMBIES, OR VAMPIRES, OR TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES!" Strider screamed. "They are Nazgûl. Say it after me; Nazzzz-gûûûûûûl!" He cleared his throat. "At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

"So," said Merry, confused, "where are they going now?"

Strider shrugged.

"There's a Starbucks down the road…"

**XXX**

The next morning, Strider and the four hobbits left Bree. Sam had acquired a pony who he'd named Bill, currently being pulled along by the firm hand of the ranger.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Frodo, struggling to keep up.

"Into the wild," he grunted.

"Care to be a tad more specific?"

"Nah, sorry. Gotta keep up my façade."

The hobbits just rolled their eyes, and trundled on.

"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf's?" asked Merry.

"Oh, easy," replied Frodo. "I have a letter here from Gandalf…"

"Ixnay on the bookverse-may!"

"I-I mean •ahem• we have no choice but to trust him."

Sam frowned.

"But where is he leading us?"

"To Rivendell Master Gamgee," said Strider, who had clearly been eavesdropping. "To the House of Elrond."

"Did you hear that?" said Sam, delighted. "Rivendell! We're going to see the elves!"

Strider suddenly got a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes.

"Ah, Rivendell," he murmured. "The one place in Middle Earth where my true heart lies. I have a lot of good memories of that place…"

"Care to elaborate?" asked Frodo, suddenly curious.

Strider pouted.

"Do you not get this by now? I speak little, look angsty, and serve as a sex icon until we get to Rivendell, where a certain prissy elf and a Gondorian hottie steal some of my spotlight. Then I tell you my true name and begin to open up. Until then, my impeccable façade is all I have."

He took a step forwards, and fell head-first into a bog.

"Impeccable façade?" sniggered Frodo.

"Oh, shut up," said Strider, spitting up mud. "You're gonna get gutted like a catfish soon anyways."

"Huh?"

**XXX**

After a lot more travelling, and a lot more silent mystique from this Strider character, the hobbits stopped by a clump of bushes and pulled out their cookware. It was high time for food.

"Gentlemen," called the ranger. "We do not stop till nightfall."

"What about breakfast?" asked Pippin.

He frowned. "We've already had it."

"We've had one yes," said Pippin, grinning. "What about second breakfast?"

Strider just raised an eyebrow, and walked away.

"Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip," said Merry.

Pippin was distraught: "What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't count on it," said Merry.

Suddenly an apple flew towards them, and Mr. Brandybuck swiftly caught it. He handed it to Pippin with a smile, and continued on. Another dropped and landed on the hobbit's head. He looked towards the sky in bewilderment.

"Pippin!" scowled Merry.

"It's raining apples again. Neat."

And they all backed away from the young hobbit, who had clearing been on the Longbottom leaf again.


	6. Of Fried Tomatoes And Umbrellas

_Wow, thank you so much for all of the kind reviews guys! You got a chapter on time this week in return _•hands out assorted cookies with big grin•

_This chapter will bear witness to the beginning of Strider's disturbing memories, Frodo's uselessness, and the age-old argument as to the existence of a certain fruit (and yes, it is a fruit). _

**XXX**

In his chamber Saruman stood, hand poised above the Palantír. Within its depths there blazed a hidden fire.

"The power of Isengard is at your command, Sauron, Lord of the Earth."

An angry squawking erupted from the Palantír.

"Sorry," said Saruman sheepishly, "wrong number."

He redialed, and after much small talk concerning Saruman's new pumps Sauron hissed down the line: "Build me an army worthy of Mordor!"

For a while Saruman sat in his study, deep in thought. A couple of orcs shuffled in.

"What orders from Mordor my Lord? What does the Eye command?"

"We have work to do!" he snarled.

The orcs shuffled back out again. The shorter of the two grumbled: "And by 'we' he means 'us'."

"I heard that!"

And a brand new stiletto heel came flying past and smacked the taller of the two in the eye. The other promptly ran off as Saruman emerged, wielding the other like nunchucks.

**XXX**

Atop the Pinnacle of Orthanc, Gandalf finally awoke. The rain was coming down quite hard, and he wished he had brought an umbrella.

"I wonder where Saruman is?" he said out loud. "He must've accidentally locked me out."

He faintly recalled doing some serious breakdancing. What had happened? Perhaps he and Saruman had gotten drunk. Yes, that must have been it. The guy had gotten so hammered he'd accidentally left Gandalf up here. And knowing Saruman, it was gonna be a few weeks until he sobered up enough to realise his mistake.

Gandalf shrugged, and amused himself by counting his toes.

**XXX**

In Isengard below, swarms of orcs hacked and pulled at the trees fringing Fangorn Forest. Saruman came down to observe them, ignoring the calls of Gandalf from atop Orthanc, requesting an umbrella.

"The trees are strong, my Lord," said one orc. "Their roots go deep."

"Rip them all down."

**XXX**

Meanwhile, Strider and the hobbits continued to trek towards Rivendell. Soon a hill rose before them, shaped like a mushroom, with an ancient ruin sitting on its peak. Strider stopped and looked upon the hill, his hair stirring in the breeze.

"This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl." He sighed. "And this was where me and my beloved made sex eighteen times in one night, and still managed to finish off a whole pizza. We covered the entire Karma Sutra, and invented a few new positions. Number 18 was my favourite." He touched a hand to his crotch and smiled in memory. The hobbits just stared at him, and decided they didn't like this new, sharing Strider. "Good times… We shall rest here tonight."

And so they did. The hobbits all took off their packs and rubbed at their aching feet. Strider unfurled a bundle and revealed four short swords.

"These are for you," he said, handing them over.

"Where did you get four hobbit-sized swords?" asked Sam, suspicion in his voice.

"Look," said Strider, "do you want the bloody things or not? Never mind the gaping plot holes."

Sam promptly shut up.

Strider smirked.

"That's better, Keep them close. I'm going to have a look around. Stay here."

**XXX**

In a quiet knoll on the side of Weathertop, the hobbits sat about a small fire, cooking their supper. Only Frodo could resist the temptation of food, and had dozed off some time ago.

"Can I have some meat?" whispered Pippin.

"Okay," said Merry. "Want some tomatoes Sam?"

Sam frowned.

"Tomatoes don't exist in Middle Earth, you pillock."

They just ignored him: "Great tomatoes!"

Frodo, who was sleeping nearby, woke with a start.

"What are you doing?"

Merry gave him a WTF? face.

"We're dancing the Flamenco. What does it look like?"

Frodo jumped up and started stamping on the fire: "Put it out, you fools! Put it out!"

"Oh that's nice!" said Pippin. "Ash on my tomatoes!"

Sam rounded on him.

"THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS TOMATOES YOU RETARDED APPLE CHEWING FUCKWIT!"

Suddenly, in the wilderness below, the scream of a Nazgûl pierced the silence. The hobbits all scrambled to their feet, and saw five wraiths approaching.

"Oh crap."

And they all ran, as fast as their little hobbit legs could carry them, which, quite frankly, wasn't very fast at all, until they reached the top of the ruins, and the wide open space which was there. The extremely conspicuous wide open space into which the Nazgûl could drive them and cut them into itty bitty little hobbit pieces.

Idiots.

The wraiths drew their long and pointy swords, and made for them. Sam got slightly angry, and cried: "Back you devils!" before jumping forwards and waving his sword a bit. Their blades didn't even budge, and Sam was thrown back, clearing the Nazgûl's way to Frodo.

Merry and Pippin stepped in front of him, and were promptly thrown aside. And so it all came down to Frodo, son of Drogo, to stand against these foul creatures, defend the Ring, and save all of Middle Earth in the process.

He fell to the ground, and screamed like a sissy.

But once again, the Ring whispered to him, and he drew it from the folds of his shirt and stared at it. The Witch King, head of the Nazgûl, drew a long dagger and came for him. Seeing no other choice, he put on the Ring.

Immediately the world became all swishy and bright. Before him stood the Nazgûl, tall and terrible, their helms pointy and their faces rotted. By some rather evil force, the Witch King drew the Ring towards him, and Frodo had a hell of a time keeping it away.

"It's mine!" he hissed. "Get yer own!" And he wrenched his hand away with a great deal of effort, and just slightly ticked off, the Witch King proceeded to gut him like a catfish.

"YAAAARGGGHHH!" Frodo squealed. "My spleeeen!"

Just at that moment, Strider came to the rescue, leaping at the Nazgûl with a flaming brand. The Witch King pulled his dagger out of Frodo, who wrenched off the Ring and lay there, shrieking like a girl.

"Frodo!" yelled Sam, who rushed to his side.

"Oh Sam," he sobbed.

And they shared a moment. Awww.

Oh yeah, and Strider was left with the rather difficult task of driving away the Nazgûl. He waved about his sword and set them all alight. Unfortunately for them there were no fire extinguishers on hand, and so they ran away, also screaming like girls.

Sissies.

"Strider!" pleaded Sam. "Help him Strider!"

Strider batted at his sleeve, putting out the small fire that was raging there, and then rushed to Frodo's side and found the broken hilt which had stabbed him. He picked it up.

"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." The knife dissolved in his hand, and he dropped it in disgust. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs elvish medicine."

He picked up Frodo and they all hurried away from that accursed place. But Sam wasn't satisfied.

"Just where did you go running off to anyways?" he asked angrily.

"I was around."

"Yeah, well, you could've been around a lot sooner."

Strider rolled his eyes.

"I had to inexplicably vanish so as to heighten the tension and leave the Witch King free to stab Frodo _m'kay_?"

"Huh?"

**XXX**

Hours or days later, Sam couldn't remember which by now, they all hurried through a dark forest, led by the light of a few torches. The Nazgûl were not far. Their screams could be heard on the wind.

"Hurry!" yelled Strider, who had Frodo dangling from his shoulder.

"What do you think I'm doing?" shouted Sam, leading Bill the pony at a near gallop. "We're six days from Rivendell. He'll never make it!"

"Of course he'll make it," said Merry with a snort. "He's the lead character. No use killing him off an hour into the movie."

Frodo just groaned again, and said: "Gandalf!"

"Hold on Frodo," murmured Strider, noting that he had gone delusional. Of course he wasn't Gandalf. He was young and virile for one thing…

"Gandalf!" screamed Frodo, close to orgasmic this time.

**XXX**

But the wizard was in no position to help at the moment. He sat atop the Pinnacle of Orthanc, huddled against a spike, cold and drenched with rain. He was really beginning to suspect that Saruman might have betrayed him. It was quite uncomfortable up here, and there didn't seem to be any way down. There was a private elevator used by the white wizard, but he couldn't get into it. Without his staff, he was pretty useless.

He reached out suddenly, and caught a moth in his hand. He'd been catching flies to eat the past few days, but maybe this creature could help him out.

"Gwaihir," he whispered to it. "Go to Gwaihir. And tell him to bring some nachos. I'm starving up here."

The moth flew quickly into the night air. Below him, a lot of forging and hammering and breeding was going on below. And not the good kind of breeding. Orc breeding. Yuck.

Saruman watched all of this with pleasure.

Sicko.

**XXX**

In Trollshaw Forest they rested, right beneath the huge, looming figures of, well, trolls. It didn't take a genius to guess how the place had gotten its name.

"I wonder," said Pippin, scratching his chin, "how this place got its name?"

Merry just whacked him with a nearby stick.

"Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, crouching over the sick hobbit. He held up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Merry and Pippin glared at him. "He's going cold!"

"Is he going to die?" sobbed Pippin.

"He's passing into the shadow world," said Strider. "He will soon become a wraith like them… But let me tell you about a beautiful place called hobbit heaven…"

A Nazgûl screamed in the distance.

"They're close," said Merry.

"Sam," said Aragorn, taking the fat hobbit aside. "Do you know Athelas plant?"

"Athelas?"

"Kingsfoil."

"Kingsfoil?" said Sam. "That's a weed."

"It may help to slow the poison," Strider explained. "Hurry!"

And so they both hurried, searching through the undergrowth by the light of their torches. Strider was the one to come upon the plant first, and took a blade from his belt in order to cut some. He stopped though, when he felt the cold of a much larger blade at his throat.

"What's this?" said a female voice. "A ranger caught off his guard? Is that Andúril in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

Strider turned, and smirked a little. Boy howdy, he was gonna get some tonight.


	7. Glorfindel's Hour of Glory

_Ack. Sorry about last week's lack of update, guys. My internet went klabooey and I only just managed to fix it. But thankfully my muse is being kind tonight, on account of my being ill (stupid winter)._

_Anywhoo. Movie!Arwen is surprisingly easy to make fun of, despite the fact that I love her… And poor Elrond. The guy never does catch a break._

**XXX**

Frodo was in bad shape. Very bad shape. His skin was pasty, his eyes bulging, and the stupid buggers had left him lying on the freezing ground. He didn't even have a pillow behind his head. But then the world became all glowy and beautiful, and he turned to see a fair maiden ride up on a white horse, and then quickly dismount. She wore a pretty dress, and her dark hair trailed down to her fanny. Frodo's eyes bulged until they threatened to fall out of his head.

"Frodo?" she said, and her voice was so deep and manly he had to stifle a laugh, despite his dying state. "_Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan na galad._ I am Arwen. I have come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light."

The hobbit just grunted.

"Who is she?" asked Merry, as the light about her faded.  
**  
**"Frodo!" she cried, kneeling before the hobbit. She was now dressed in dark colours and a billowy cloak thing. Her hair was badly ruffled, and she was out of breath. She coughed, and pulled her cloak back over her shoulders. Sam rubbed his eyes, and blinked them a few times. He could've sworn she was wearing a dress a minute ago.  
**  
** "She's an elf," he said, in awe.

"He's fading!" said Arwen, taking a twig out of her hair. She then pulled open Frodo's shirt to reveal the nasty knife wound. Strider had suddenly appeared from out of the trees, hair badly ruffled, out of breath, and knelt down next to her. He put a bit of athelas to his mouth, and then smothered it onto the inflamed skin. He also picked a twig out of his hair, and zipped up his pants with an awkward cough. "He's not going to last."

Frodo let out a shriek somewhere between a pig and a mongoose.

"We must get him to my father," said Arwen, as Strider picked up Frodo and took him over to Arwen's horse. "I've been looking for you for two days."

Strider frowned.

"That doesn't make any sense. I thought you were a pampered elven princess? Why would your father even let you out of his sight, let alone go gallivanting after Nazgûl?"

Arwen folded her arms.

"Look, just buy into my bloody character will you? I'm gonna be shoved down your throat for the next three movies anyways."

Strider smirked.

"In more ways than one."

She smacked him.

"Where are you taking him?" asked Merry, somewhere in the background of the shot, who received no answer for his troubles. He rolled his eyes. Lousy human/elf relationships. Oh boo hoo. Immortal life forsaken. Blah. Blah. Blah. Everything had to be about _them_.

"There are five wraiths behind you," continued Arwen.

Strider jumped, and swiftly turned around, sword at the ready.

Arwen giggled.

"Where the other four are, I do not know."

Strider sat Frodo atop the horse, and then turned to her.

"_Dartho guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon._ Stay with the hobbits. I will send horses again for you."

"Hell no. I'm gonna ride this girl power phenomenon into cinematic posterity whilst it lasts."

Strider sighed.

"Bloody feminism. Fine then. Apparently you are the faster rider anyways."

She nodded.

"I do not fear them."

Strider took her hand, and laid it on the reins.

"_Beyest lin_," he whispered, before starting to help her atop the horse.

She scowled.

"I can do it myself, oppressive manchild!"

And she climbed up herself, and promptly slipped down the horse's backside, until she was spread eagled with her hands clutching at its tail.

Strider raised an eyebrow.

"Girl power?"

And she dropped to the ground and marched up to him, wagging a finger in his face.

"Help me on top of the damned horse or you won't be getting any tonight."

He had scooped her up and plopped her on the horse's back before you could say '_mellon nin'_!

She composed herself, and then gave him a smile.

"Arwen," he said. "Ride hard. Don't look back!"

They exchanged a glance, and Arwen raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, that sounded so dirty."

He snickered. "I realised just after I said it."

She turned to the horse and whispered: "_Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!"_

And then she was off, and Strider breathed a sigh of relief. Did she have to pressure him about forsaking her immortality EVERY BLOODY TIME they met? He hated having relationship talks. They bored him. Unless there was the promise of sex afterwards. But even then…

"What are you doing?" shrieked Sam. "Those wraiths are still out there!"

Strider rounded on him. "AND YOU DON'T THINK THOSE SAME WRAITHS AREN'T GONNA HEAR YOUR WHINING YOU FAT GIT?" He sobered, cleared his throat, and then went back to staring after Arwen's fine booty.

In the bushes nearby, nobody noticed the unconscious form of Glorfindel.

**XXX**

And so Arwen rode. She rode hard. Hard and fast. Her breathing became heavy. Her heart pounded until it threatened to rip out of her chest and leg it across the plain. And Frodo continued to grunt with excessively louder grunting sounds. And still they rode. Hard. And all the while they were riding a horse. Damn.

Oh yeah, and some Nazgûl chased them too. In and out of the trees they weaved, with those black riders shrieking all the while. One reached out to grab Frodo, and Arwen cried: "_Noro lim Asfaloth!_"

The horse picked up speed, and away they sped again, faster than Samwise Gamgee when he's spotted a buffet.

Soon they had reached the Ford of Bruinen, and Arwen rode to the other side and turned. The riders paused on the opposite bank. They didn't like water, since none of them could swim. And they refused to wear arm bands. Fluorescent orange and black tended to clash.

"Give up the half-fling she-elf!" they hissed.

Arwen did not answer, but drew her sword with a mighty _ching!_

"If you want him, come and claim him!"

And so they started across the water, and Frodo glared at her.

"Now you've done it!" he said.

Arwen ignored him, and began to chant a spell upon the river: "_Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer, Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulair! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer, Rimmo nin Bruinen dan in Ulair!_"

And with a mighty crash around the bend there came a massive crest of water, and Frodo's eyes bulged with horror. Upon the waves appeared the forms of galloping horses, and with a lot of shrieking and spluttering the Nazgûl and their horses were washed away.

Frodo got off the horse, shaking his head.

"Okay. That is it. I could accept the horse-stealing and the exciting chase scene, but that spell just takes the cake!"

Arwen frowned.

"What? I was just calling on my father to unleash the flood. It's not like _I _created or summoned it or anything."

Frodo raised an eyebrow.

"Well, were you ever going to tell the audience that?"

She flicked back her hair.

"I think the scene is pretty self explanatory."

Frodo gasped.

"What is it?" she cried.

"Oh, bugger. I'm having a plot rape-induced heart attack."

She began to panic.

"Damn it, I can't remember my first aid training!"

Frodo fell to one knee.

"Well then, speed me to Rivendell, you stupid wench!"

"No," she said. "That's okay. I'll just hug you tightly and hope that somehow everything will work out."

Frodo's face fell.

"I am screwed."

And she scooped him up in her arms and held him close, so that he was crushed up against her cleavage. If Aragorn had been around to see it, she would've had some explaining to do.

And once again, everything went white, and she prayed.

"What grace is given me, let it pass to him, let him be spared, save him…"

**XXX**

Frodo felt a very strange sensation. He was as light as a feather, and his hair blew in some unseen breeze. Then he realised he was flying.

_Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_ thought his unconscious mind. But then he heard a voice: _Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan nan galad._"

Slowly he opened his eyes, and at first everything was shockingly bright. Twilight Zone bright.

"Where am I?" he said, half to himself.

"You are in the house of Elrond. And it is 10 o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th if you want to know."

He turned and gasped.

"Gandalf?"  
**  
** The wizard sat smoking on his pipe, and smiled. "Yes... I'm here. And you're lucky to be here too. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you have some strength in you, my dear hobbit!"

"What happened Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Frodo," he said. "I lost my mobile, and then I was delayed."

_The rain had finally stopped. And Saruman was still drunk he concluded, as he was flipped about and hung precariously over the edge of Orthanc._

"_Friendship with Saruman is not lightly thrown aside," said the white wizard, scowling. "One ill turn deserves another. It is over! Embrace the power of the Ring…or embrace your own destruction!" _

_He flipped Gandalf back onto solid ground. The wizard sat up, and worked the kinks out of his back._

"_What time is it?" he asked, smacking his lips. "High time for breakfast I'll reckon."_

_Saruman had a hissy fit._

"_Hello? Have you even read this book? I am evil. I have betrayed you. I am torturing you to try and bring you over to the Dark Side. AND ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS YOUR SMEGGING BREAKFAST!"_

_Gandalf frowned, and looked at his watch._

"_I'm missing GMTV."_

_And he jumped off the tower, much to Saruman's confusion, and landed on the back of Gwahir, a giant eagle._

"_You took a bit of a risk, didn't you?" said the eagle, laughing._

_Gandalf made a WTF? face._

"_I didn't even realise you were there. I was attempting suicide, ya know, but I guess the Valar have further uses for me." The eagle passed him up a packet of nachos, and he settled onto its back as they flew towards Rivendell._

_"So you have chosen death," mused Saruman. "Hey, whatever. I'm not judging." _

"Gandalf?" asked Frodo, realizing the wizard had spaced out. "Helllloooo?" He waved a hand in his face. "What is it?"

Gandalf shook his head.

"Nothing Frodo."

"Aww, come on, you can tell me."

"Seriously Frodo, just let it slip. Give me at least this one angsty moment in the film. I'm gonna die in a couple of scenes time."

"Huh?"

Just then Sam rushed into the room, and took hold of Frodo's hand.

"Frodo!"

"Sam!"

"Gandalf!"

They both turned and stared at the wizard.

"Sorry." And he went back to smoking his pipe.

"Bless you, you're awake!" cried the fat hobbit, grinning.

Frodo just laughed.

"Sam has hardly left your side," said Gandalf.

Sam nodded: "We were that worried about you, weren't we Mr. Gandalf?"

"By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to mend."

And they all suddenly noticed Elrond, chief elf of Rivendell, who had been hiding behind a curtain. He was tall and fair, and wearing a quite ridiculous high-collar number.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

"Hi." And Frodo turned back to Sam. "So anyways, I hope you weren't watching me while I was sleeping..."

Elrond cleared his throat. Frodo looked up.

The elf spread out his arms, and announced: "Welcome to Rivendell!"

Frodo raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time."

Elrond scowled.

"Do you not recognize me?"

"Huh?"

"Oh come on. Everyone's seen me in that film. It gets mentioned constantly in fanfics. It was groundbreaking stuff. Y'know… the one that completely screwed with your mind? And where I had that really _particular_ way of speaking…"

Frodo shrugged.

Elrond had a hissy fit.

"I'm Mitzi from _Priscilla, Queen of the Desert_, dammit!"

Gandalf, Frodo and Sam all looked at each other, clueless.

"Arghhh! It was a classic! Why does no one ever think of that movie in relation to me?"

Frodo squinted his eyes.

"Wait a minute, you _do_ look familiar…"

Elrond began to smile.

"Yes?"

"But I remember you wearing a suit…"

"Nonsense," said Elrond, quickly. "You must be mixing me up with someone else."

"Oh yeah," said Sam, catching on, "weren't you in that movie about computers and stuff?"

"I really feel this is neither the time nor the place-"

"Agent Smith!" said Frodo, laughing. "You were that evil guy from _The Matrix_ weren't you?"

Elrond blushed.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Must be the anesthetic making you hallucinate."

Gandalf had caught on by now.

"Ooh, ooh, say it! Say the line!"

Elrond looked about, helplessly.

"Oh god!" he cried. "I can't escape it!"

And then he went running out of the room, pulling at his hair in exasperation. A moment later he strode back in, slipping on a pair of black shades.

"_Welcome to Rivendell, Mr. Anderson._"

Gandalf bounced about in his seat, clapping.

Frodo smiled, taking the steaming bowl of soup that was offered to him. Then his face fell.

"I need a spoon."

"Ah, but Mr. Anderson," said Agent Smith/Elrond, turning around and walking out of the room. "There is no spoon."


	8. Let The Slashing Begin!

_Hehe. I'm glad everyone enjoyed Elrond/Agent Smith. I only really threw him in at the last minute ^^_

_I really didn't feel funny this weekend, so that is why this chapter is a tiny bit late. I'll try and be back on schedule next time, I promise._

**XXX**

Frodo got dressed, and ventured out into Rivendell proper with Sam. Merry and Pippin ran out to see him, overjoyed, and a lot of hobbit hugging and groping ensued. Frodo pushed them away, and spotted his Uncle Bilbo sitting on a seat not far away.

"Bilbo!" he cried.

"Hello, Frodo my lad!"

And they hugged too. And more groping ensued. Frodo soon ended the hug, and was more than happy to read Bilbo's book.**  
**  
"_There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins_," he read.

Bilbo snatched up the book and jumped in front of the camera, beaming.

"Only £9.99 from all good bookstores!"

Frodo glared at him.

"What? It's shameless product placement. Get with the times, Frodo."

He scowled.

Bilbo shrugged and took a seat beside the young hobbit, albeit shakily.

"I meant to go back," he said. "Wander the paths of Mirkwood... visit Laketown... see the Lonely Mountain again… But age it seems has finally caught up with me."

"I'll say," said Frodo. "You look as ravaged as a buffet after Samwise Gamgee has spotted it."

Frodo was flicking through the book again, and stopped on a map of the Shire.  
**  
** "I miss the Shire. I spent all my childhood, pretending I was off somewhere else… off with you on one of your adventures!" He frowned. "My own adventure turned out to be quite different… I'm not like you Bilbo. Thank god."  
**  
**Bilbo smiled. "My dear boy."

And he put out his arms for another hug. Frodo suddenly needed to go to the bathroom.

**XXX**

In another corner of Rivendell, Sam was packing up his bag, and muttering to himself: "Now what have I forgotten?"

Frodo walked over. "Packed already?"

Sam looked up from packing a plastic banjo. "No harm in being prepared," he said.

Frodo was amused, and watched as Sam packed a rubber ducky, a bottle of sun block, a pair of Speedos, some fluffy handcuffs and a magazine entitled _Hobbit Monthly_. "I thought you wanted to see the elves, Sam."

"I do!"

"More than anything."  
**  
** "I did! It's just... we did what Gandalf wanted didn't we? We got the Ring this far to Rivendell and then I thought - seein' as how you're on the mend - we'd be off soon. Off home."

"Come on Sam," said Frodo, patting his back. "We've got two more movies to fill. You know that!"

"I suppose you're right."

He fiddled distractedly with his prized bowling ball before packing that as well.

"Besides," said Frodo, "it's not like anything atrociously awful is gonna happen to either of us in the near future..."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Do the words 'giant spider' mean anything to you?"

**XXX**

From Elrond's study, Gandalf and Elrond were eavesdropping on the hobbits.

"His strength returns," said Elrond.

"That wound will never fully heal. Not with your lousy stitching. He will carry it the rest of his life."

Elrond frowned. He had tried to stitch Frodo's wound so that it read '_Elrond wuz ere 20/10/3018'_ but had failed miserably.

"And yet to have come so far," said the elf, "still bearing the Ring, the hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil."

"It is a burden he should never have had to bear," argued the wizard. "We can ask no more of Frodo."  
**  
** "Gandalf," said the elf sternly. "The enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are amassing in the east. His eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman you tell me has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin."

The wizard shook his head.

"His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft Saruman has crossed orcs with goblin-men. Very icky business. He's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard, and it's not a pretty sight to see I'll tell ya. An army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring."

There was a pause. Then they both burst into girlish laughter.

"Oh, the subtext!"

Gandalf wiped a tear from his eye.

But then Elrond's words became urgent: "This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves. We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard!"

Gandalf walked away a few paces, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Coward."

"Gandalf," said Elrond, slipping back into his sinister Agent voice. "The Ring cannot stay here."

The wizard did not answer at once, but looked out of the window and saw a man, a couple of elves and some dwarves arrive.

"This peril belongs to all Middle Earth," said Elrond.

"Except for Tom Bombadil."

"Except for Tom Bombadil. They must decide now how to end it. The time of the Elves is over. My people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? The dwarves? They hide in their mountains seeking riches; they care nothing for the troubles of others."

Gandalf nodded. "It is in men that we must place our hope."

"Men?" The concept was so absurd that Elrond began to laugh, and could not stop for another ten minutes. Gandalf went to go get him a glass of water, but it was useless. The elf lord just coughed and spluttered and snorted it all out of his nose.

The wizard sighed, and looked into the camera.

"Jackson, just run the flashback, okay?"

_ Sauron had been defeated. And Elrond was all business, as he stomped over to Isildur and said to him: "Isildur, hurry. Follow me."_

Elrond, who had managed to calm down somewhat, began his angsty monologue: "I led Isildur into the heart of Mount Doom, where the Ring was forged, the one place it could be destroyed.

_And so Elrond led Isildur to the heart of Mount Doom, where the Ring was forged, the one place it could be destroyed. The elf walked towards the brink, and stared down into the fire, and then back at Isildur._

"_Cast it into the fire!" he said. _

_Isildur opened his hand, and looked at the Ring. It began to whisper to him. _

"_LIEKOMG!" the elf pleaded, "don't you now tht ring is liek totally ebil! It'll ensnare yooooooo! Destrrroy it!"_

"_No," said Isildur, smirking. And he walked away._

_"Isildur!" Elrond yelled, dropping to his knees and ripping at his cloak in agony. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

"It should've ended that day," he said grimly, "but evil was allowed to endure."

"Umm, Elrond. Why didn't you just grab the Ring and throw it in yourself?"

"Quiet you."

Gandalf pouted.

"Isildur kept the Ring," said Elrond. "The line of kings is broken. There is no strength left in the world of men. They're scattered, divided, leaderless."

"There is one who could unite them," said the wizard. "One who could reclaim the throne of Gondor."

"He turned from that path a long time ago. Wimpy bastard. He just spends all his time joyriding through the wilds and screwing my daughter. I swear, one night I came home from an errand and heard this scream from Arwen's room, so I ran upstairs and there's Aragorn standing there with this huge friggin' bullwhip…"

Gandalf quickly left, before he was forced to rip his own ears off.

**XXX**

Strider was reading a book. Well, pretending to anyways. It was all about wizards and muggles and someone called Voldemort. He wondered whether he was any relation of Sauron's. They both seemed to like rings a whole lot.

He heard footsteps, and looked up. Boromir, a proud, noble man of Gondor, had entered the room. He had long brown hair that even a shampoo model would be proud of. Strider caught himself drooling just in time, and then, discreetly crossing his legs, he went back to his pretending-to-read.

Boromir paused in front of a painting. It depicted Isildur cutting the Ring from Sauron's finger. He peered intently at the signature in the corner: _Van Gogh_. He shrugged, and turned towards the shrine in the centre of the room. Before the statue of a woman rested the broken hilt and shards of a sword. He picked it up and stared at it in wonder.

"The shards of Narsil! The blade that cut the ring from Sauron's hand!"

He ran a finger along the blade, and accidentally cut himself.

"It's still sharp!"

"Well duh."

He turned to look at Strider, who had looked up from his book. Their eyes met, and Boromir suddenly became aware of himself.

"No more than a broken heirloom!" he muttered, and set the hilt down again. It fell and clattered to the ground and he turned a moment, then swiftly left the room, feeling Strider's eyes on his ass all the while.

The ranger got up, and walked over to the shrine. Bending down, he picked up the handle and put it back with the other shards. Then he took a step back, and put a hand upon his heart.

"Why do you fear the past?" It was Arwen. "You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself."

"Well duh. That was such a stupid line Legolas should have said it."

Legolas, who was hiding behind a pillar, ran out of the room and burst into tears.

She ignored him. "You are not bound to his fate."

He sighed. "The same blood flows in my veins. The same weakness."

"Your time will come," said Arwen. "You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it. _A si i-Dhúath ú-orthor. Ú or le a ú or nin._ The Shadow does not hold sway yet, not over you and not over me."

**XXX**

And now the audience was forced to learn a whole new name, since this Strider had turned out to be the heir of Isildur, with a spiffy new name and everything. Aragorn he was, son of Arathorn, and somehow he had managed to bag himself a hot elven babe. With mussed up hair like that.

Some guys had all the luck.

They stood, holding hands atop the bridge spanning the Ford of Bruinen, looking all glowy and beautiful. A number of fangirls in the bushes hissed at Arwen for stealing their man.

"Did you hear something?" he asked.

"No… maybe it was one of Sam's Neekerbreekers."

"Neekerbreekers?" he asked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Oops, sorry. I'm getting book verse confused with movie verse again."

He shrugged.

"It happens. So, anyways, let's plight our troth in a really obvious lets-enthuse-some-romance-into-this-film-to-please-the-backers-at-New-Line kinda way."

She frowned.

"I thought we already plighted our troth about 38 years ago?"

Aragorn slapped himself in the forehead.

"It's the 21st century. Lots of couples cohabit before they get married these days."

"But we haven't been living together. You've been going all Aldarion on me, disappearing on all of your adventures whilst I sit about and mope at home."

He shrugged.

"It's not my fault you're such a useless character."

She stomped on his foot.

"Ow. I mean, let's pledge our eternal love, _kay_?"

They went back to their glowy façade, and some neat subtitles appeared whenever they spoke Elvish, which was beginning to annoy Aragorn after a while.

"Jackson!" he called. "Could you cut the subtitles a second? I'm trying to have a romantic moment here!"

"But no-one will know what you're saying!"

"So? It'll add a little mystery to the scene."

Arwen growled.

"I am _this_ close to sleeping with Legolas!" she told him. "Just ignore the bloody subtitles!"

He sighed.

"Fine, but this is the last time…"

"_Renech i lu i erui govannen_?" she whispered. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"Yeah," he told her. "I fell down the hill and came crashing down on you. Then Elrond found us on top of one another, covered in dirt and leaves, and he's hated me ever since." She nudged him in the ribs. "I-I mean: _Nauthannem i ned ol reniannen_. I thought I had strayed into a dream."  
**  
** She reached out a hand and tenderly touched his cheek.

"_Gwenwin in enninath...U-arnech in naeth i si celich._ Long years have passed…You did not have the cares you carry now."

"Well, thanks, you look good for your age too."  
**  
** She met his eyes.

"_Renech i beth i pennen_? Do you remember what I told you?"  
**  
** His hand ran down her breast, and came to rest on the Evenstar pendant around her neck. It was all pretty and shiny in the moonlight. Then his hand kept going.

She batted it away.

"Not here!"

He pouted.

"You said you'd bind yourself to me; forsaking the immortal life of your people." He sighed. "Now if that wasn't a subtly concealed line of exposition. Not."

"And to that I hold," she said, in a dramatically deep voice. "I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone." She laid the Evenstar in his hand. "I choose a mortal life."

He shrugged.

"Whatever floats your boat."**  
**

And then it was their cue to kiss, but Aragorn went and messed it up, like he always did at every important moment of his life. He slipped off the bridge and fell into the Ford with a huge splash. Arwen just stood there, soaked from head to foot. A number of fangirls sprang from the bushes and went to Aragorn's rescue, whilst Peter Jackson ran out yelling 'Cut!'

"That was awful!" he shouted at her. "Why can't you two get this one little scene right?"

She watched as Aragorn dragged himself out of the water, spitting up copious amounts of water.

"Still," she answered, "this was the best take so far..."


	9. The Council of Agent Elrond

_Well, here it is – my longest chapter yet ^^ I had a lot of fun writing this, although I was disturbing myself with the amount of sexual innuendos I managed to slip in there…_

_And I'm afraid there's no Pirate!Legolas, but there is something in a future chapter that will honour the elf's alter ego, I promise XD_

**XXX**

The next morning there was quite a commotion in Rivendell. Word had spread that there were free milk and cookies outside in the courtyard, and so every elf, man and dwarf had flocked to the vicinity to sample some of the aforementioned chocolatey goodness. Only when they reached the place, there were no cookies to be seen.

"What is going on?" demanded Gimli, a short stocky dwarf with a braided beard. "I want my cookies, dammit!"

And then Elrond appeared, and calmly took a seat in his conveniently placed throne. Everyone yelled at him, demanding their snacks. He smiled, and took his shades out of an inside pocket of his robes, slipping them on really slowly in that really cool way that he does.

"I am afraid, gentleman, that there are no cookies."

"What?"

"I knew it!"

"Not even any oatmeal ones?"

"No, gentlemen," he said again, smirking. "You are not here to sample my moist, crumbly, succulent… em, I mean, you're not here to eat cookies. I had a much more sinister motive in bringing you here."

And then the gate leading into the courtyard suddenly clanged shut.

"We're trapped!"

"Arghhh!"

"Don't panic!"

But everybody did.

"Gentlemen!" yelled Elrond, waving his arms about. But it was no use. People were running to and fro, throwing themselves at the gates, getting into fights and whacking each other with steel chairs.

The elf lord was forced to use the power of Vilya to summon the Bruinen to drench them all into submission.

"Now," he said, taking his seat with a sigh. Everyone just stood there, gaping at him, dripping wet. Gimli coughed up a fish. "I have brought you all here for one reason and one reason only, and that is to discuss the plot."

A collective shudder ran through the group.

"Yes, I know this part of the book is frightfully long and overcomplicated but we can get through this if we work together!"

"Can I use flashcards?"

"No, Mr. Baggins, you cannot use flashcards."

The hobbit scowled.

"Well then, why are you allowed to use them?"

"Because," said Elrond, putting aside his latest flashcard, "I'm older. And taller."

The hobbit sulked. Elrond just glared around at everyone. They all promptly shuffled off and climbed back into their seats, unwilling to suffer the wrath of the patented wandering eyebrow.

"Strangers from distant lands," he began. "Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor-"

"Actually, I'm just here for the cooking seminar."

He sighed, and pointed towards the Last Homely House.

"Second door on the left, opposite the laundry room."

The dwarf scampered off, and Elrond continued his important-sounding speech.

"Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He grinned. "But, y'know, no pressure or anything."

They all just sat there, glaring at him.

"Tough crowd, huh?" He shrugged, and stood up, gesturing towards the stone pedestal set in the centre of the courtyard with his neat oversized sleeves. "Bring forth the Ring, Neo."

Gandalf coughed.

"Actually Elrond, it's Frodo."

He looked embarrassed.

"Oops, yes. Sorry Frodo."

The hobbit was nervous as he stepped forward and placed the Ring on the pedestal before him. He returned to his seat, exhausted, since placing a band of gold on top of a table can be pretty darned strenuous at the best of times.

Everyone started whispering at once.

"Have you seen the way Boromir is looking at Aragorn?" an extra asked the man beside him. "Wowee, I think something is going on there."

Boromir, the man he was whispering to, raised an eyebrow.

"_I_ am Boromir, you dolt. And I'm pretty sure we're meant to be discussing the Ring."

"Oh."

After a bit more whispered conversing, Boromir made up his mind, and rose from his seat, beginning a rant that absolutely nobody was interested in.

"It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring?" He paced a bit, and his furry cape swished behind him. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Aragorn spoke up. He was sick to death of this guy stealing all of the limelight. He was young and handsome and valiant, and dammit, if he didn't do something soon his admirers – who were not so subtly hiding in the surrounding bushes – would throw him off and chase after Boromir faster than you could say 'Smeagol'!

"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir turned and glared at him.

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

Legolas - who had been busy studying his reflection in Gimli's axe - stood up and puffed out his chest. He was a pretty elf, with long blonde hair and sparkling eyes.

"This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance. And yes, I am defending him fiercely, spawning countless fanfics about our adventures together, although Tolkien never mentioned we knew each other before this Council. Damn it, I'll shut up now!"

He sat back down, frowning over his pointless rant.

At that moment Tom Bombadil burst in.

"Cut!" he shouted. "Where is Peter Jackson? I never got a call about a Lord of the Rings movie! Where the hell am I in all this? I want Brad Pitt to play me!"

Everyone ignored him. He burst into tears, and ran to seek comfort in the bosom of Goldberry.

"Aragorn?" Boromir answered, uncomprehending. "This... is Isildur's heir?"

"An heir to the throne of Gondor."

"Yes, Legolas," said Boromir. "Welcome to the conversation."

Neo – I mean Frodo - looked at Aragorn in wonder.

Aragorn waved a hand.

"_Havo dad Legolas._ Sit down Legolas."

The elf sat down.

Aragorn grinned.

"Good boy." And he gave the elf a cookie.

Boromir went all broody and glared at Aragorn.

"Gondor has no pants. Gondor needs no pants."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me."

He went and sat back down, whilst Aragorn sat and pondered these words.

Gandalf spoke up: "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice," purred Elrond. "The Ring must be destroyed."

Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"Well duh."

Gimli was getting impatient.

"Well then, what are we waiting for?"

And he grabbed his axe away from Legolas and walked up to the pedestal.

"ARGH!"

And with Hulk-like strength, the dwarf brought his shaft (yes, his shaft) down upon the Ring. It shattered in his hands (yes, in his hands) and sent him crashing back onto his rather broad backside. The Ring remained untouched on the pedestal, surrounded by the broken shards of his shaft (yes, his – ah, screw it, you get the idea).

The Eye of Sauron flashed before Frodo's eyes and he winced. Whispers of a black tongue could be heard on the wind.

Elrond shifted in his seat.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess."

The dwarf's eyes widened.

"_Whatchoo talking 'bout Elrond?_"

"The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

Boromir turned to the extra sitting beside him.

"Who the heck says 'whence' anymore?"

"_Ash Nazg_," whispered the Ring.

Boromir glanced up.

"Shut up you."

Elrond's face was stern:"One of you must do this."

Everyone became deadly silent. So deadly silent in fact, that one of the dwarves collapsed there and then and died on the spot.

Boromir broke the silence: "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

Someone in the ring of seats coughed, with said cough sounding suspiciously like 'The Last Alliance.'

Legolas got to his feet, annoyed that Boromir had opted to lean forwards in his chair and block his light, dulling the reflection he was gazing at in one of his knives, since Gimli had went and smashed his axe so selfishly.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" It was Gimli.

Boromir rose.

"Why in the hell are we arguing about who gets to go on a suicide mission to go throw the root of all evils into a huge friggin' volcano?"

They all paused.

"Cause…" said Gimli, groping around for a reason. "Your hair is stupid!"

Boromir's eyebrow began to twitch.

"What?"

"Your hair," said Gimli, folding his arms with a grunt. "It's meant to be black, not brown."

Boromir growled.

"Hey, I dyed it myself! It looks fine!"

Gimli shrugged.

"Whatever."

"Hey," snarled Boromir, "do you really think I am going to take beauty tips from a dwarf?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means!"

"How dare you insult the legendary beauty of the dwarves!"

Boromir stuck out his tongue.

"It definitely is legendary."

"Gentlemen!" cried Legolas, jumping in between the two as mediator. "Stop this pointless fighting!"

"Oh, go marry Gimli you stupid, shallow elf!"

Legolas' eyes narrowed.

"I am not stupid."

And then all hell broke loose. Legolas rugby tackled Boromir. Gimli whacked Aragorn with a chair. Gandalf sucker punched Frodo. Figwit performed a dazzling roundhouse kick upon a fellow extra.

The rest of the Council started chanting: "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!"

Elrond began to bash his head against the wall.

Somehow, Frodo had managed to crawl out of the worst of the carnage, and now he slid into his seat, dazed, with a trickle of blood running from his nose. He looked over at the Ring with a growing sense of fear. The Council members had appeared in its surface, and suddenly they were being engulfed in a ring of fire.

_Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg gimbatul._

Frodo set his resolve, and stood up to face the Council.

"I will take it! I will take it!" When no-one paid attention, he screamed: "I WILL TAKE THE BLOODY THING!"

They all turned and looked at him.

"You don't have to shout!" said Gandalf.

The hobbit grinned. "Sorry. I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though… I do not know the way."

"Well duh." Gandalf rolled his eyes. "You got lost on your way to the bathroom. You think we'd trust you with something like a Ring of Power? I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear." He walked over, and put a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

Aragorn rose from his seat.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He knelt down before Frodo. "Will you marry me?"

"What?"

"I-I mean, you have my sword."

Gandalf caught Elrond's eye and winked.

"Why do you keep winking at everyone?" asked the elf.

Legolas stepped forward.

"And you have my bow."

He handed Frodo his bow, and then went back and sat down.

"Umm, Legolas?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know how to use a bow."

The elf shrugged.

"Neither do I, but it drives the fangirls crazy."

Aragorn growled, and went and took the elf by the ear, dragging him back towards the group.

"But I'm not a good traveler!" sobbed the elf. "You try packing six hundred pounds worth of cosmetics into a single piece of hand luggage!"

Frodo frowned.

"Don't you want to come on a super special awesome trip to Eru-knows-where?"

"Ooh, ooh, I do!" And Gimli joined the group.

Frodo shook his head.

"No, we don't need any dwarves on this trip, thank you very much."

Gimli frowned.

"Why not?"

"Well…" said Frodo, looking about. "Gandalf serves as plot exposition, Aragorn as shameless eye candy… Legolas is the unintentional comic relief, and, of course, I'm the lovable hero of the piece who gets everyone else to do his dirty work and moans and bitches about carrying around a piece of extremely pricey gold." He stuck his nose up in the air. "What are _you_ going to contribute, huh?"

The dwarf was lost for words.

"I… uh…"

Frodo waved a hand.

"You've got ten seconds to come up with a reason."

"I…er…"

"Five seconds."

"I… I serve as the butt of a hilarious joke involving dwarf tossing!"

Frodo frowned.

"Damn it, I see your point." He sighed. "Fine, get over here. But just shut up and be quiet until then."

Gimli sauntered over to the group, feeling proud of his relative uselessness in regards to the entirety of the plot.

Frodo looked around.

"Anyone else?"

Boromir stood up next.

"You carry the fates of us all little one," he said. "If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

Frodo frowned.

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

"Hey!" Sam jumped from out of the bushes, and ran up and skidded to a halt beside Frodo. "Mr. Frodo is not going anywhere without me! Not least with this bunch!"

Frodo frowned.

"Sam, you really need to stop following me everywhere. Seriously, it's getting border-line stalkerish now."

Sam grinned.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but someone told me there were cookies out here."

Elrond was amused.

"It is hardly possible to separate you two, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Sam pouted.

"Shut up, Hugo."

The next moment a pair of hobbits named Merry and Pippin came dashing into the courtyard.

"I'm telling you!" yelled Merry over his shoulder. "You can't tig on a tog!"

They both came screeching to a halt in front of the partly assembled Fellowship.

"Ooh," said Pippin. "Are we picking teams for the football tournament already?"

"No," said Elrond, scowling. "We're actually assembling a Fellowship for an extremely doom-laden mission, and _you're _not allowed to come."

Merry frowned.

"But what about the female members of the audience? We're trying to think of them too, y'know."

Aragorn raised a hand.

"Yeah, I got that covered."

Elrond shrugged.

"Just let 'em come, I can't be bothered to work out the logic behind this quest anymore anyways."

Pippin nodded: "And you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest... thing."

"Well," said Merry, "that rules you out Pip"

Pippin burst into tears.

"Nine companions..." said Elrond, secretly pleased that he had managed to count without using his fingers. "So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" He grinned, and punched the air in triumph. "Oh yeah, I got to say the tagline of the movie! Booyah!"

"Great!" said Pippin, who had stopped crying. "Where are we going?"

Sam shrugged.

"Beats me. As long as it's got cable, I'm not complaining."


	10. The Pass of Cara, Carr, Carrad

_Wow. Thank you for all of the reviews, guys! You rock ^^ In answer to the query about the extended editions… I decided to parody the theatrical version of the movies because I am lazy XD But that does not mean that there will not be jokes at the extended edition's expense!_

_This chapter was written at about 3am, under the influence of a lot of Coca Cola. I think it might just show._

**XXX**

Later that day, Frodo found himself in Bilbo's room. Frankly, he had been just a little disturbed when his uncle had asked to see him, alone, after the Council. There had been a scary look of lust in his eyes. So it was with a sense of relief that he watched Bilbo take out his souvenirs from his past journey.

"My old sword, Sting!" he said, grinning. "Here! Take it, take it!"

Frodo unsheathed the sword, and held it up to the light.

"Ooh, shiny!"

"Yes, yes," said Bilbo. "Made by the elves you know. The blade glows blue when orcs are close. And it's at times like that my lad when you'll have to be extra careful!"

He brought out a chain mail shirt next. Frodo's eyes bulged with wonder.

"Here's a pretty thing… Mithril! As light as a feather! And as hard as dragon scales! Let me see you put it on. Go on."

Freaked by his uncle's urging to take off his shirt, Frodo stepped back a little, and began to unbutton his lapel. The Ring was hanging about his neck.

"Oh... M-my old Ring! Oh well… I sh-sh-should very much like to hold it again, one last time."

Raising an eyebrow, Frodo buttoned up his shirt again. If he wasn't careful, Bilbo would probably rip off his shirt to get the Ring, and then sweaty hobbit shenanigans would ensue. He wondered silently just how long it had been since Bilbo got laid.

Suddenly Bilbo's face changed, and he lashed out for the Ring. Frodo backed away, shocked by his uncle's frankness. No wonder it had been so long since he last saw action. The guy was an animal.

And then came the waterworks.

"I'm sorry I brought this upon you my boy," Bilbo wept. "I'm sorry that you must carry this burden. I'm sorry for everything!"

Frodo came forward, still cautious, and put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Then, he reached into his pocket, and took out a laminated card, sporting a picture of a comely young hobbit lass.

"Call this number. Tell them Frodo sent you."

**XXX**

The newly-formed Fellowship left Rivendell. They skipped merrily out of the hidden valley, and went out into the icky wild, where it was windy and cold, and Legolas bemoaned the lack of even passed a pretty Elven ruin thingy. Legolas wasted quite a few hours there, searching for the hair brush he had left amidst the grass a few millennia ago. In the end Aragorn had threatened to take all of his cosmetics and throw them off the side of the mountain. They soon carried on.

Eventually they rested atop a rocky hill.

"We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for 40 days," explained Gandalf, using his magical power of voice over. "If our luck holds the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there our road turns east to Mordor."

Sam skewered some sausages, and brought them over to Frodo, who was sitting on a rock, watching Boromir and the hobbits training. And thinking that maybe they were getting a little _too_ friendly.

"Two, three, four, five," said Boromir, crossing blades with Pippin. "Good, very good."

Aragorn sat nearby, smoking his pipe, and feeling a little woozy. He'd stolen some leaf from Merry's pack, and was wondering what exactly was in this Longbottom stuff.

"Move your feet," he said, then grinned stupidly. The sky was very coloury and prettyful today. And then, for no reason at all, he suddenly passed out.

Merry complimented his cousin: "That's good, Pippin."

"Thanks!"

But Boromir was not satisfied yet. "Faster!" he urged, and the two hobbits, the dwarf and the wizard sitting nearby faced away, and dreaded to turn and see what they were up to.

Gimli cleared his throat orcwardly. (Geddit? Orc? Awkward? Ah, forget it.)

"If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they're not, I'd say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome."

"No Gimli!" said Gandalf, smacking him on the head like a disobedient dog. "I would not take the roads through Moria unless I had no other choice. Or if they installed air conditioning. It can get bloody hot down there sometimes."

A few paces away, Legolas stood on a rock and let the wind blow dry his hair. He missed his hairdryer, but he'd been forced to leave it back in Mirkwood. There were too few places to plug it in out in the wild. He found it all very crude and outlandish. No electrical outlets? Then where did people plug in their hot wax strip unsightly hair removers? No wonder they looked like hairballs with legs, or in Gimli's case, legs with hairballs.

Meanwhile the cacophony of ecstasy continued: "Come on. Good," cried Boromir.

"Aaaah!" he said.

"Sorry!" said Boromir. "I got carried away."

Pippin clambered off him, did up his belt, and kicked Boromir in the shin.

"Aaaah!" said Boromir.

"Get him!" said Merry, and both hobbits jumped on the man and began to grope him. Boromir howled with laughter. Aragorn, woke up again, and laughed too, but did not know what was so funny. But the sky was still very prettyful though.

"For the Shire!" said Merry, grinning.

"Hold him! Hold him Merry!" Pippin was by now getting some rather kinky thoughts.

Merry was not done with foreplay however: "He's got my arm! He's got my arm!"

Sam was about ready to bite off his own hand, and so he tried to change the subject of conversation. "What is that?" he said, taking note of something upon the breeze. Legolas had not even bothered to mention it. Some lookout he was.

"Nothing," said Gimli. "It's just a whiff of cloud."

Boromir stood up, and pushed the groping hobbits away. "It's moving fast… against the wind."  
**  
**Legolas suddenly caught on, and said: "Crebain from Dunland!" They all stared at him a moment. "Evil bird things."

"Oh."

"Hide!" cried Aragorn. The others scrambled into the bushes. He frowned. He hated Hide and Seek when he was 'it'.

"Aragorn!" hissed Frodo, and he pulled him down into a bush with him. The evil bird things wheeled ahead a moment, and then flew away again to report their findings to George Lucas, but not before they had completely ruined Legolas' brand new tunic. He cried for hours, then went and changed into his spare, complaining that he only had 50 more racks of clothing to last him the trip.

"Spies of Saruman!" said Gandalf. "The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Cara-Carr-Carrad…"

"Caradhras!" offered Aragorn, who promptly passed out again.

Sam frowned. "Do we have to?"

"Yes!"

"But, what-"

"YES!"

**XXX**

So, despite Sam's protests, they climbed that snowy mountain thing, and it was cold with a capital 'k'. And Frodo, bless his hairy hobbit feet, fell over in the snow and landed right in front of Aragorn, who pulled him up with a sigh.

"This is the last time!" he said, rubbing at his forehead. "I have the worst headache ever, and I'm sick of carrying people through the snow. Y'know, maybe sometimes I would like to be carried? You never thought of that did you? Ungrateful, stupid, idiotic little-"

"Boromir!" said Frodo.

"Boromir?"

"Yes Boromir."

"Boromir?"

"Boromir!" said Sam.

Aragorn was confused. "Boromir?"

"BOROMIR!" shouted Boromir. "Geez, Aragorn, for a future king you can be frightfully simple sometimes… Ooh shiny." He picked up the Ring where it had fallen, and held it up to the light. "It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing… such a little thing." And dude, he was drawn to that Ring like Samwise Gamgee is drawn to a buffet.

"Boromir!" said Aragorn, finally understanding.

"WHAT?" shouted Boromir. "Why does everyone keep saying my name?"

"Give the Ring to Frodo." Grudgingly, Boromir walked over to Frodo, and the glare that Aragorn was giving him sent chills up his spine. If not for the freezing snow, he would've taken him there and then on the slopes of Cara-Carr-Carrad…

Frodo grabbed the Ring, and the spell was broken.

"As you wish," said Boromir, ruffling the hobbit's hair. "I care not." He gave Aragorn one last look, and then heaved his shield onto his shoulder and turned away, hoping to give him an eyeful of his fine Gondorian booty.

And they all continued on.

**XXX**

The evil bird things had reported back to Saruman, and he was mightily pleased.

"So, Gandalf," he purred. "You try to lead them over Car... the mountains. And if that fails, where then will you go? If the mountain defeats you will you risk a more dangerous road?"

He stood in thought mode for a time, and then, with a slight giggle said: "Fly my pretties, fly!" And the evil bird things wheeled away into the air, and he beamed with pride. "I've always wanted to do that."

**XXX**

The Fellowship plodded through the snow, and Aragorn grumbled mightily as he carried Frodo and Sam. The pipe weed had all but worn off now, and he was as cold as Arwen's glance.

Legolas, however, was having a whale of a time, moon walking up the slopes, thanks to his nifty Elven ability to walk on top of snow. Boromir put out his leg and sent him crashing face first into the ground. He was cold and horny and miserable, and certainly did not want to hear Legolas singing 'Billy Jean' all damn day.

Suddenly a fell voice was on the air:

_Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; nai yarvaxea rasselya! _

"A fell voice is on the air!" said Legolas, helpfully.

"It's Saruman!" answered Gandalf.

Suddenly there was a huge avalanche, and everyone dodged out of its way. Boromir tried to push Legolas over the side in the confusion, but the elf's hair got caught in his armour and he was, unfortunately, dragged to safety. But that didn't stop him singing 'Greensleeves' in the silence that followed.

"WTF?" said Boromir, enraged. "That song doesn't even exist in this world you muppet!"

Gimli frowned.

"What's a muppet?"

Aragorn yelled over them: "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf sobbed, rising and chanting out a counter spell. "_Losto Cara…mountain thing, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!_ Sleep Cara…mountain thing, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!"

**XXX**

Miles away, on top of Orthanc, Saruman chanted: "_Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; Nai yarvaxea rasselya; taltuva notto-carinnar_!" which, roughly translated, came back as 'Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!"

**XXX**

A fork of lightning suddenly rent the sky, and struck the mountain with a huge crash.

"AVALANCHE!" yelled Pippin.

They all scrambled from the edge again, but this time they were buried. Legolas cried: "Anyone who is dead say I!"

Silence.

And so they all dug themselves from the drift, whilst Legolas went into a rather lengthy rendition of 'Carmen'.

Boromir was distraught: "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"  
**  
** "The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" argued Aragorn. "Plus the Rohirrim are mean."

"With no dress sense," said Legolas.

"Or deodorant," said Merry.

"Or cable," mourned Sam.

"Or orchards," said Pippin, suddenly craving an apple.

"If we cannot pass over a mountain," said Gimli, "let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria."

Gandalf suddenly went all angsty.

**XXX**

Saruman was suddenly back in his chamber, having taken the express lift down from the tower. The food was bad, the seats uncomfortable, and the in-flight movie was a Doug McClure. He really had to fire those orc engineers.

"You fear to go into those mines," he said to Gandalf, through way of some freaky telepathic power. "The dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. You know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dûm: shadow and flame!" He then suddenly had a craving for pie, and his thought process became: "I want pie. Pie is nice. Boromir is nice too. I want Boromir's Gondorian booty. Stupid sexy Aragorn."

**XXX**

Suddenly Gandalf's mind had turned to pie. But he shook himself out of it and said: "Let the Ringbearer decide. Frodo?"

"Why the hell do _I _have to decide?" said the hobbit. "It's always Frodo-do-this, Frodo-destroy-that. What the hell is wrong with you people? I can't even get into R-rated movies and you expect me to save the world?" They all just stared at him (well, everyone but Legolas, who was flossing his teeth with his bowstring) and he sighed. "We will go through the mines."

"So be it," said Gandalf. "Let's hope the dwarves have pie…"


	11. First Stages of Cannibalism

_I have nothing against Frodo or Legolas, I swear. Teehee. Ooh, and I'd love to make some Kingdom of Heaven jokes, Kameko, but I'm afraid I've only seen the movie once and I have a memory like a sieve XD_

_Hope everyone had a nice Christmas! Obviously the holidays are why there was a delay in my posting this chapter, but hopefully you will forgive me :p_

**XXX**

So, after a lot of backtracking, and a lot of 'I-told-you-so's' from Samwise Gamgee, the Fellowship arrived at the walls of Moria, whilst the audience pondered why they had even bothered to try the pass of Caradhras in the first place. After all, anyone with a half a brain could see that the Mines of Moria offered much more opportunity for highlight reel worthy action sequences, not to mention a huge saving on the lighting budget.

Gimli, eager to see the handiwork of his ancestors, rushed to the front of the group, and his eyes widened in awe.

"The walls of Moria!" he gasped. The others just grunted. They didn't really give a damn. They'd slogged their way up a mountain and then down again, and had had to listen to Gandalf going on about pie the whole way. They were about ready to eat each other, and unbeknownst to Gimli, he had already been singled out as tonight's supper. That is, unless they found some food very soon.

So, very carefully, they picked their way around a freaky-looking lake which stood in front of the walls. Frodo nearly fell head first into the water, to the surprise of absolutely no one.

Aragorn sighed.

"You should _really_ get some health insurance."

Frodo just gasped, and jerked his foot out of the waters.

"Why?" asked the hobbit, wide-eyed with fear. "Nothing else bad is gonna happen to me, is it?"

Aragorn looked about shiftily.

"Um, sorry Frodo, I think I left the iron on."

And the ranger promptly skedaddled.

Meanwhile, Gandalf had found the place for the doors, but none of them could actually _see_ a door. They were all beginning to wonder if Gandalf's mind was really all there.

"Now, let's see..." rambled the wizard. "Ithildin; it mirrors only starlight and moonlight…"

And lo and behold, the moon peeked from behind the clouds, and the doors shone with a sudden brilliance.

Gandalf beamed.

"It reads: '_The doors of Durin - Lord of Moria. Speak friend and enter_.'"

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Merry.  
**  
**"Oh it's quite simple," said Gandalf, feeling cocky. "If you are a friend you speak the password and the doors will open." He cleared his throat, and set the end of his staff against the door. "_Annon Edhellen edro hi ammen!_ Gate of the Elves, open now for me!"

But the doors did not budge. Boromir snickered. Gandalf smacked him with his staff, and then tried to push the doors open with it, but to no avail.

"Push harder!" said Sam.

"No," argued Pippin, "lever it open with branches!"

"Sing it a song!" said Frodo.

"Use Legolas' toothpicks to pick the lock," Boromir suggested.

The elf glared at him and flicked back his hair.

"They are for dental hygienic purposes ONLY!"

Aragorn rolled his eyes: "Just smash it to pieces with Gimli's axe."

"That won't work," said Gimli, slightly affronted. "Have you not heard the legends? Dwarf doors are not made to be broken!"

Boromir sighed.

"Here we go with the legends of the dwarves again…"

Gimli rounded on him.

"Do you wanna piece of me?"

"You think you can take me?"

"WILL YOU ALL PLEASE JUST SHUT THE HELL UP?"

They all turned to look at the wizard, who was red-faced with anger.

"Are we going to stand around like idiots, or are we going to go into the Mines?"

They all just shrugged.

"Oh, for cripe's sake." Gandalf sat down on a rock and moped. "Screw you all. I'm catching the next Balrog out of this movie."

**XXX**

Time passed. And passed. And passed. Everybody sat about, impatiently waiting for Gandalf to open the doors. Pippin was sharpening his fork, and eyeing Gimli with a watering mouth.

Over by the water's edge, Aragorn was unloading Bill the pony, who had utilized his five minutes of fame.

"The mines are no place for a pony," he said. "Even one so brave as Bill."

Sam burst into tears, and held onto Bill's neck for dear life, crying into his mane. Aragorn went to pull him off, but Sam elbowed him in the face. It took four of them to drag him off in the end. Samwise Gamgee was as desperate to keep that pony as, well, Samwise Gamgee was desperate to get to a buffet.

Bored, Merry began to throw stones into the water. Pippin did the same, until Aragorn caught hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Do not disturb the water!" he said, sexily.

The hobbit frowned.

"Why not?"

Aragorn sighed.

"Did neither of you see the sign?" And he gestured towards a rather prominent sign which was stood by the water's edge, emblazoned with the words: '_Even hideous tentacled sea monsters need their sleep, kthanxbye.'_

"Oops," said Pippin. "Sorry."

Meanwhile, Gandalf had finally given up, and plopped down on a rock. Frodo got up though, and was suddenly struck by a thought: "It's a riddle_. 'Speak_ _'friend' and enter.'_ What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"_Mellon_," said Gandalf.

There was a creaking sound, and slowly the doors opened. They all stood up in relief. Gandalf however, took up his staff and cracked Frodo on the head with it.

"Fool of a Baggins! You could've said something earlier!"

The hobbit rubbed at his head, scowling.

"Hey, gimme a break, okay? I have a lot on my mind. Besides, the audience figured it out about ten minutes ago."

And so they all entered the darkness of Moria, whilst Frodo nursed the growing bump which was now protruding from amidst his mass of curls.

"So," said Pippin, who jogged forwards to walk alongside the hobbit, "you wanna go catch a movie or something?"

"What about the quest?"

"Ooh right."

A little ways behind them, Gimli nudged Legolas and said: "Soon master elf you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves. Roaring fires… malt beer… ripe meat off the bone!"

Legolas crinkled his nose.

"Sounds like Woodstock."

The dwarf waved a dismissive hand.

"This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine." He laughed. "A mine!"  
**  
**"This is no mine," said Boromir in horror. "It's a tomb!"

And they finally noticed all of the extremely obvious corpses littering the floor. Gimli ran over to one and sobbed in anguish.

Aragorn scowled, and clouted the grieving dwarf over the head.

"It's been over sixty years since you last spoke to your cousin. Did you not even _slightly _suspect that something was wrong?"

"Well," said Gimli. "The last time we spoke I said his beard was ridiculously short. I thought he was just sulking."

"_For sixty years_?"

"Hey, Balin can be a moody git sometimes."

Gandalf just frowned.

"Does this mean we don't get any pie?"

They all began to shift about nervously. Legolas knelt down and inspected one of the bodies.

"I think this guy is dead," he murmured.

Boromir rolled his eyes.

"What gave it away? His festering, decaying corpse or the arrows embedded in his torso?"

The elf did not answer, but picked up something which lay on the ground nearby.

"Apparently he's a donor."

Frodo folded his arms and scowled.

"D'ya think maybe we could get out of the scary room full of rotting corpses, huh?"

Boromir and Aragorn - who had struck up an impromptu game of football with one of the skulls – stopped and had a think.

"Well, there's an idea."

"I'll say," said Legolas, who began to tremble. "The blonde chick is always the first to get it..."

And they all drew their swords, backing out of the door with much haste. But none of them noticed the waters stirring behind them.

Something lunged out of the water and grabbed Frodo's ankle.

"Help me!" squealed the hobbit, who was dragged towards the water's edge on his belly.

"Can you not rescue yourself?" growled Sam. "You've got a perfectly capable sword right there."

"But I'm the hero," whined Frodo. "I can't be expected to do anything myself! I have deep emotional turmoil concerning an all-powerful evil to deal with, dammit!"

Sam scowled.

"Don't you go all emo on me, Mr. Frodo!"

The overly angsty hobbit's upper lip started to quiver. Sam tried to look away, but it was no use.

"Damn those beautiful blue eyes!" he hissed. And he lunged forwards and hacked at the tentacle which had hold of Frodo's ankle. "Get off him!"

The creature recoiled a second, then appeared again, shoving everyone aside in order to grab Frodo, who was hoisted up into the air, dangling upside down. The Watcher then loomed fully out of the water – an ancient creature who dwelled in the lake, and when woken up from his evening nap became _extremely_ cranky.

"WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?"

The hobbit's knees began to tremble.

"E-Err… It is I, Frodo Baggins."

Gandalf stamped his foot.

"Would everyone please stop with the Aladdin quotes?"

Frodo folded his arms and glared, still hanging upside down.

"Could you please stop bitching about the script and help me?"

The Watcher growled.

"Could _you all_ please stop with your incessant nattering? Can you not read the sign? I am trying to sleep here!"

But nobody was listening. They were all running about, panicking like headless chickens (all except Legolas, who was too busy grooming himself).

"Aragorn!" screamed Merry, who was presently hiding under a rock. "Do something!"

"Geez," said the ranger. "I'm coming. Keep your furry hobbit feet on!"

Legolas stopped grooming himself for a second, and shot at one of the tentacles. Boromir and Aragorn started slicing the others with their swords. Frodo fell with a loud: _AIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!_

Boromir, who was stood below him in the perfect position to catch the falling hobbit, whistled innocently and stepped to the side. The hobbit fell into the water with a splash.

"Into the Mines!" shouted Gandalf. Everyone rushed in, even Frodo, who picked himself up, dripping wet, and glared at Boromir, who was too busy drooling over a wet and dripping Aragorn to care.

"Legolas!" he shouted, shaking himself from his lustful staring. "Aim for his eye! Come on!"

And with a _chachooooom!_ Legolas let loose an arrow, and it shot straight into the Watcher's eye with the beauty of bullet-time photography. Then he shot another arrow, which went straight down the creature's throat. A loud swallowing noise followed, and then a dull rumble.

The Watcher exploded.

KABOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!

And in typical Hollywood fashion, the nine members of the Fellowship dived, in slow motion, inside Moria with a loud chorus of _Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!_'s

Jackson slapped himself in the forehead.

"Goodbye artistic integrity."

**XXX**

For a moment, all they could see was darkness. As they picked themselves up, they were aware that the doorway behind them had crumbled and blocked up the exit. They were trapped.

"LEGOLAS?" screamed Boromir, shaking the elf by the collar. "What the hell was that?"

"Dynamite-laden tip," said the elf. "Very useful for large targets."

They all just stood there, with their mouths on the floor. All except Aragorn, who was busy drooling over a wet and dripping Boromir. It was a good job he was wet from the lake water, otherwise Merry would have questioned the puddle of drool that he promptly slipped on.

Unfazed, Gandalf lit up the end of his staff with a handy 60-walt light bulb.

"We now have but one choice," he said. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

Boromir muttered something which sounded suspiciously like 'dwarves.' Gimli promptly kicked him in the shin.

"Quietly now," said Gandalf. "It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

"What?" said Pippin, who had been distracted by the wizard's shiny light.

"I said: Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

Merry nudged Pippin in the ribs.

"What did Gandalf just say? I wasn't paying attention."

"He said something about presents, I think."

The wizard turned around with a scowl.

"I said: LET US HOPE THAT OUR PRESENCE MAY GO UNNOTICED!"

The echoes of Gandalf's yell bounced off the walls, and reverberated into every nook and cranny of Moria.

Frodo slapped himself in the forehead.

"The world is doomed."

**XXX**

So they began their journey in the dark, wherein they amassed many a bruised toe and a scraped knee. Legolas annoyed everyone by hogging the light, complaining that he needed it to be able to apply his mascara. Aragorn promptly took his mascara and threw it into a chasm, and if not for the strength of Gandalf and Boromir holding him back, the sobbing elf would have jumped in after it.

They then climbed some very steep stairs, full of gaping holes that plunged down towards unfathomable depths. By the time they reached the top, they were all barely hanging on by their fingertips, covered with scrapes, bumps and bruises. Gimli was so out of breath he had to don an oxygen mask.

And then they noticed the escalator. Gimli threw his oxygen mask over the side in a rage, tank and all.

And so, with much lower morale, they reached a crossroads, with three different paths. Gandalf stopped.

"I have no memory of this place." He then turned around and looked at the Fellowship in confusion. "Who the bloody hell are you people?"

And they all groaned, realizing Gandalf had gone completely senile.

**XXX**

"Are we lost?"

"No."

"I think we are."

"Shhh! Gandalf's thinking."

"Merry?"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

"Well go eat Gimli, then!"

They were all sat by the crossroads resting, whilst Gandalf tried to recall the way. They didn't hold out much hope though. He kept pointing his staff at Frodo, thinking it was a remote control and demanding: "Where's my bingo?"

"There's something down there," whispered Frodo, noticing something crawling about in the darkness.

"WHAT?" yelled Gandalf, who was becoming a little hard of hearing. "You're wearing purple underwear?"

Frodo stamped on his foot. The pain of it brought the wizard back to his senses, for a time.

"What is that down there?"

"It's Gollum."

"Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days."

Frodo gaped. "He escaped the dungeons of Barad-dûr?"

"Escaped?" said Gandalf. "Or set loose?"

"No, I said he'd escaped. Idiot."

Gollum climbed a conveniently placed ladder, and watched them, letting out a low hiss. How dare they limit his screen time?

"He hates and loves the Ring," explained Gandalf. "As he hates and loves himself. He will never be rid of his need for it."

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!"  
**  
**"Pity?" said Gandalf. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?"

"Er, no. Shoot."

"Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends." He turned around, and shook a fist at the camera. "You hear that, Texas?" Then he coughed, and turned back to Frodo. "My script tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

Gollum slinked away, seething.

"I wish the Ring had never come to me," said Frodo. "I wish none of this had happened."

Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"For Eru's sake, what do ya want? A lollipop? A pat on the back? You're the Ringbearer for crying out loud. Stop your whining. You applied for the job in the first place, with all its perks and its hazards. We knew it would lead to some sticky business, so we buttered you up with the free toaster oven."

Frodo scowled, and pushed aside the aforementioned toaster oven, in which he was making bagels.

"Hey you, I've been pushed off a cliff, stabbed, harassed, chased, thrown, and just been thrown about like a rag doll. I think I'm entitled to a little sympathy here."

Gandalf smiled kindly.

"Well tough. You've got two more films of this so get used to it. You hate your lot. So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world Frodo besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought." He suddenly looked up. "Ah! It's that way."

Merry grinned. "He's remembered!"

They rushed over to the left-hand tunnel.

"No," said Gandalf, "but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

So Merry followed his nose, and smacked right into the wall.


	12. The Chamber of Marzipan

_Thank you so much for the reviews, guys! _•gives out cookies with extra chocolate chips•

_I had a lot of fun writing this chapter :) I hope you have fun reading it too! _

**XXX**

After Merry had been treated for concussion, the Fellowship travelled even deeper into Moria. It wasn't long before they had reached the bottom of the winding stairs of the left passage, and found themselves with a draft at their faces.

"Let me risk a little more light," said Gandalf. "I keep tripping over Pippin's feet."

And so he lit his staff even brighter, and revealed a huge hall, stretching for miles, lined with carven pillars and arched ceilings. It was so immense, its size could only be guessed.

They all looked on in awe. Sam whistled appreciatively.

"Behold the great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!" said Gandalf.

Aragorn smiled in remembrance.

"Ah," he said, "now this is the very place that me and Arwen did it like bunnies for four hours straight. No exaggeration. That woman has the stamina of Samwise Gamgee at a buffet."

They all decided to ignore him.

"Ooh!" said Gandalf, pointing at a nearby room. "It's the Chamber Of Marzipan!"

Boromir raised an eyebrow.

"Marzipan? Are you sure?"

"Of course," said the wizard, blinking in confusion. "What else would it be?"

Samwise Gamgee, meanwhile, rushed past, wide-eyed at the prospect of a room full of marzipan.

Boromir growled, and stalked over to the wizard.

"Where does it say 'Chamber of Marzipan'?"

Gandalf dug in his cloak, and produced a booklet. Boromir snatched it away, and found himself clutching a fold-out map entitled '_An Idiot's Guide to the Wonders of Moria.'_

"'_Warning,'_" read Boromir. "_If you arrive at historic Moria and find its halls deserted and littered with corpses, then the dwarves who once inhabited its depths and kept the place safe have long since been massacred. We at the Middle Earth Tourist Advisory Board strongly recommend that you do not venture inside the Mines if said massacre has occurred. If, however, you are reading this after having ventured into the Mines anyways, then this booklet can be rolled up into a point and used to jab any would-be attackers in the eye. If that doesn't work, then you are all royally screwed.'_"

They all glared at Gandalf. The wizard just stuck out his tongue, and snatched back his booklet. Then they entered the Chamber of Marzipan, and Frodo grabbed Sam by the collar and dragged him away from the walls, which he was currently licking in a vain search for the aforementioned sugary goodness.

Set in the centre of the room was a stone crypt, lit by a high shaft of light. Gimli's eyes widened, and he ran towards the sight and collapsed to his knees.

"No!" he sobbed. "He was so young!"

They all gathered around the grieving dwarf. Boromir put a hand on Gimli's shoulder. Aragorn glared.

**"**_'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria'_," read Gandalf, "He is dead then. It is as I feared."

Gimli just cried.

Spotting something, the wizard handed his hat and his staff to Pippin, and bent down to pull a book from the hand of a dwarfen corpse. He accidentally broke the hand off at the bone, and spent several minutes trying to reattach it. No use though. The hand was firmly stuck, still grasping the book. He opened its pages, with the hand dangling limply from the spine.

Legolas turned to Aragorn.

"We must move on. We cannot linger!"

"Well duh."

"_They have taken the bridge_," he read, "_and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep." _He turned a page._ "We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out…They are coming_…" For a moment he thought that was all, but then he turned the page and found some more: "_They're in. They got in the doors. They're shooting at us. I can't return fire because my hands are full writing in this damned book… Hey, Balin! Watch it with the pickaxe, will ya? Dwarven lords, huh? They're all so self absorbed… Oh crap, someone's just stabbed me. At least I think they have… Yes, I am 100 percent sure I have been stabbed. Oh crap, and now there's a friggin' arrow through my forehead. That is gonna hurt in the morning… Hmm. I seem to be losing a lot of blood. Great, and now I'm dead. So much for that Turner prize._" Gandalf turned another page, but found it blank. "It ends there."

Sam yawned.

"I'm bored."

Pippin turned, and saw a corpse, sitting perched on the edge of a well.

"Why don't we play a game?" he said.

"Like what?" asked Sam.

And Pippin nudged the corpse in the chest and cried: "Tig!"

But something happened in that moment. The head of the corpse broke off, and went flying down the well with a great deal of clanging. The body, attached by a bucket and chain, soon followed.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

It all made for a tremendous noise, which echoed in caverns and bounced off rocks. Pippin winced. Legolas sang. Aragorn slapped him.

Silence reigned. They all breathed a sigh of relief, whilst Legolas quietly sobbed.

Gandalf slammed the book shut. "Fool of a Took! You and your bloody Tig! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" He snatched back his hat and his staff.

But their relief was short-lived. Drums echoed in the deep. Pippin gasped, and looked towards the well. The scream of orcs was heard in nearby tunnels.

"Frodo!" said Sam in horror, indicating the hobbit's sword. Frodo pulled it from its sheath. It was glowing bright blue.

"Orcs!" cried Legolas.

"WE KNOW!" they all screamed.

Boromir rushed to the door, and jumped back to avoid being hit by a flurry of arrows.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Now that was just rude!"

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"Get back!" he shouted to the hobbits. "Stay close to Gandalf!"

The hobbits gave the aforementioned wizard a rather worried look. He was perched atop Balin's tomb, reading the Book of Marzipan like a newspaper, smoking a pipe, and complaining about the current state of affairs surrounding the Goblin's Republic Of Perpetually Inexplicable Narrative Gimmicks, or G.R.O.P.I.N.G for short.

"They have a cave troll," said Boromir. "COOL!"

Aragorn rushed forward to help push the doors of the chamber shut. It was proving difficult however, since Boromir kept poking his head out, asking for an autograph.

In the end he cracked him on the head with his own Horn of Gondor, and proceeded to bar the door with weapons and pieces of wood. Then they all stood back and drew their swords.

Gimli kicked Gandalf from Balin's tomb, and then tried to climb up, but his stumpy arms and legs were proving a hindrance.

"Err, Aragorn?" he whispered. "You don't suppose you could toss me up, do you?"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't this exchange meant to be in the second movie?"

"Oh for Eru's sake!" cried Gandalf, lifting up the dwarf and plopping him atop Balin's tomb. "He's just gonna fall off in a second anyways..."

Gimli cleared his throat, and then yelled: "Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

"Actually," said a voice. They all turned to see a dwarf slumped against the far wall, covered in blood and wounds, and yet still very much alive. "I seem to be living in a state of perpetual agony and not actually, well, dying. Don't suppose one of you could do me a favour and PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY? _Kthanxbye_."

Sam rolled his eyes, and walked over, brandishing a saucepan.

"Ok," he said, "but this is the last time!"

And he cracked the dwarf over the head, and sent him up to dwarf heaven, or down to dwarf hell, depending on how his creator looked upon that one drunken night…

Anyways, there was the more pressing matter of the dozens of orcs and the cave troll – "LiekOMG! Can I have a picture?" "Shut up Boromir." – to deal with.

Legolas and Aragorn both strung their bows and took aim. Legolas huffed and drew out another arrow, so that two were poised upon the bowstring. Aragorn huffed, and drew out two more arrows, so that he had three on his. Soon they had both crashed to the floor, brought down by the weight of enough arrows to bring down an Oliphant, or y'know, Samwise Gamgee after eating an entire buffet.

"JUST SHOOT ALREADY!" screamed Frodo, who was seriously questioning his lack of health insurance.

And so they did, and killed a few creatures before the rest burst through the door.

And with a "For Gondor!", an "Elendil!", a couple of "For the Shire!"'s and a miserable "I'm getting too old for this," from Gandalf, the fight was on.

Legolas shot one orc as it rushed him, right between the eyes. And then everyone brandished their swords, or their axes, and engaged the creatures in close combat. Gimli hacked at many from atop the tomb. Aragorn sliced the head of another clean off, and then, in full battle fury, he let out a tremendous yell and jumped again into the fray. Boromir noted in the back of his mind how sexy that yell had been as he too hacked and parried their blows.

Then there was a rumbling, and the huge cave troll smashed through the doorway and roared at them. It was a huge, hulking beast, with grey cracked skin and bulging eyes. Legolas took aim and shot it in the shoulder. The creature growled in pain, and then attempted to squish Samwise Gamgee with its mace, but the hobbit crawled between its legs and escaped.

Turning its attention to Gimli, the troll swung twice, and hit both the tomb and a fleeting orc. Gimli stuck out his tongue at the creature, but was then sent flying as the mace fell again and smashed the tomb beneath him.

"Damn!" he thought. "Stupid Gandalf and his inexplicable foresight."

Gandalf, meanwhile, was dancing about, slaying orcs with the pointy end of '_An Idiot's Guide to the Wonders of Moria'. _It was proving to be rather effective.

Legolas managed to catch the troll's attention, and ducked the chain it swung towards him, which wrapped about a pillar. Then he ran across its length, jumped onto the troll's head and shot it from above.

"Well, I never!" it cried. "How rude!" And Legolas paused a moment, as the troll pulled the arrow out of its cranium and chucked it to the floor. "Why in the name of the Istari did you just shoot an arrow into the top of my head? That is_ so_ rude!"

Legolas sweatdropped.

"I-I'm sorry, I was only following the script."

The troll folded its arms.

"Well, did it ever occur to you that there might have been a misprint? I mean, it's not exactly model behaviour to go around shooting people in the head with a bow and arrow, now, is it?"

Legolas paused.

"…I suppose."

"I mean, did it ever occur to you that I might not be the bad guy here? I could just be some poor child separated from its mother, enslaved by orcs and tortured and beaten until it was ravenous and ferocious and prepared to smash anything in order to get a small cameo in the most successful film trilogy in the history of cinema!"

"What about Star Wars?"

"Screw Star Wars!" And the troll bellowed in fury, grabbed Legolas by the hair and threw him unceremoniously across the room. There was a ripping sound, followed by a girlish scream and a thud.

"What did you do?" mumbled Legolas, incoherent, as he picked himself up and put a shaky hand to his head. "Did you…? DID YOU JUST PULL OUT SOME OF MY HAIR?1111"

Everyone in the chamber stopped dead. Everyone except Sam that is, who walloped someone on the head with his skillet before noticing that the battling had stopped.

Aragorn straightened up beside the hobbit, rubbing the top of his head and scowling.

"Sam, you are a complete idiot."

The fat hobbit grinned.

"Sorry, Mr. Strider, sir, I was thrown for a moment by the dirt and the rags."

In the corner, Legolas had dissolved into tears over the loss of his hair. It was a moment before everyone remembered that they were in the middle of an unnecessarily stunt-laden action scene, and resumed their battles.

Unfortunately for Mr. Baggins, he found himself facing off against the cave troll. And since everyone was rather too busy to save him, (ingrates!) he found himself in the middle of a rather deadly game of hide and seek. He had never been very good at the game as a child, and today was no exception.

The troll hoisted him into the air. Frodo promptly plunged Sting into the troll's hand and proceeded to fall on his head.

"Wow," he gasped, his eyes wide. "I actually got in some offense!"

"Don't worry!" cried Aragorn. "I'm rushing over to heroically save you, thereby boosting my right to become King and reducing your likeability as a character!"

And he grabbed a spear, and stuck it firmly into the troll's squishy belly like a kebab. The creature did not look too kindly on this action though, and sent Aragorn flying into a pillar. He lay stunned, and Frodo could not rouse him.

"Five more minutes," the ranger murmured, rolling over and pulling his cloak over his head.

Which left the troll free to gut Frodo like a catfish. _Again._

And they all just rolled their eyes, and kept on killing. Merry and Pippin leapt onto the troll's back and stabbed it from behind, and it threw them off, yelling about the proper rules of combat, and how it was very cowardly, not to mention rude, to stab one in the back as such.

That was until Legolas marched over, his eyes blazing, and proceeded to shoot it in the mouth. It fell to the floor, thoroughly dead. So much for the rules of combat.

Everyone ran over to Frodo's lifeless body (except Legolas that is, who was frantically trying to scrub troll's blood out of his tunic and reattach his hair).

"He's alive!" said Sam, turning the hobbit over.

"I'm alright," said Frodo, gasping. "I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead!" said Aragorn.

Frodo looked confused.

"Am I not?"

They all groaned.

"Let's please not steal lines from _that_ movie."

Legolas beamed.

"I play a pirate."  
**  
**Gandalf stepped forward with a twinkle in his eye: "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

And Frodo revealed the _mithril_ shirt that he wore beneath his clothing.

"_Mithril_!" said Gimli, drooling at the mouth. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

There was silence for a moment, and then the faint cries of orcs travelled to their ears.**  
**  
"To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!" said Gandalf. He stopped and scratched his head. "Now which way is that?"

And they all groaned. Again.


	13. Extremely Unnecessary Hugging

_Thank you for the reviews, everyone :) _•notices the abundance of chocolate chip cookies she has given out, and offers a glass of milk to wash it all down•

_Originally, I was going to split this whole thing into three different fics, one for each movie. Now I've decided it's just going to be one huge fic. That way, I don't have to struggle with crappy sequel titles, and it will be easier for people to find the next part. But now I'm worried that I have tons of chapters and not enough space to put them in here. I wonder if there is a chapter limit for stories on this site?_

**XXX**

Much with the running, as the Fellowship sprinted full welly towards the bridge of Khazad-dûm, the location of which Aragorn had finally pounded out of the wizard with his own staff. There was a slight problem though, Gimli noted, as dozens and hundreds and thousands of orcs swarmed from every conceivable place and surrounded them, until they were stood in a circle, aiming their weapons in all directions, with absolutely no hope of escape.

Legolas grinned a weak grin, and said: "Parley?"

They all glared at him. And just as Boromir was considering abandoning his chums to torment and death, and legging it as fast as he possibly could, a light appeared in the distance, followed by an unearthly growl, like stone grinding against stone.

The orcs surrounding them fled. Gimli chuckled.

"What is this new devilry?" asked Boromir, eyes agape, as the ground beneath them shook again.

"A Balrog," said Gandalf. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

Boromir was offended: "Hey, I'm sure I could take him!"

"Me too," said Aragorn, stepping forwards.

"And me!"

Boromir turned, shaking his head at the dwarf.

"No, I am sorry, but you could not take on that thing in a million years."

Gimli growled.

"Yes, I could! Have you not heard the legends of the-"

"We are NOT going through this again!" cried Gandalf, lifting his staff and shooting stars at them. "Now, off! Go on! All of you!"

And so they ran, since the advice seemed quite sensible really, and Boromir took it too far and almost ran off the edge of a flight of stairs. His torch fell into the brink, but Legolas caught him just in time.

The Gondorian was stunned.

"Legolas, you just did something extremely clever and noble. What in Eru has gotten into you?"

The elf stood there, wide eyed: "I have absolutely no idea."

Then they heard the screams again, and realised it was not a Balrog after all…

Irresistibly, they both turned, frozen to the spot with fear. Boromir swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

"The fangirls are coming, aren't they?"

The elf nodded, mute.

There was another rumble. The ground beneath their feet began to shake and splinter. A distant _'squeeeee!'_ snapped them out of their reverie, and they both turned and bolted down the stairs. The hobbits soon followed. A few moments later, Aragorn and Gandalf brought up the rear.

"Gandalf," said Aragorn, noting the wizard had stopped running. "You've stopped running." The wizard did not say anything, just looked at Aragorn, and then back at the approaching fangirls with a gleam in his eye. "Why aren't you running?" He grabbed the unresponsive wizard by the collar and shook him like mad: "You know that running thing we talked about earlier? WHY AREN'T YOU DOING IT?"

But Gandalf shook his head.

"Lead them on Aragorn. The bridge is near." The ranger stared at him in shock. "Do as I say! Swords are no more use here." The wizard threw his sword into a chasm. "And neither are pants!" And he took off his pants and threw them into the chasm too, so that he was stood there in his boxers, grinning like a loon.

Aragorn edged away.

"Um, yeah. You take care of things in this area, and I'll be away over here being… away." And the ranger legged it down the stairs, praying desperately that there was a cure for senility.

**XXX**

The race of dwarves were really not very bright, Aragorn mused, as he dashed down a set of extremely unnecessarily steep stairs, which had no handrail and sides which plunged down into a chasm so deep, he was sure that if he dropped off the edge he'd probably fall all the way around the world and land on top of the Silvertine again.

He skidded to a halt behind the rest of the Company, who had stopped at a gap in the stairs. Legolas leapt across easily.

"Gandalf," he said, beckoning the wizard, who jumped across too.

Just then, arrows started bouncing off the steps. Legolas notched his bow and sent an orc falling to its death, with a little help from his new-fangled heat seeking arrows.

Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin, one under each arm, and leapt across with a yell.

The stairs crumbled a jot.

"Sam," said Aragorn, grabbing the fat hobbit by the collar and pitching him with all his strength. He was caught by Boromir. The ranger secretly cursed.

It was Gimli's turn next, but he protested: "Nobody tosses a dwarf!"

And so he leapt himself, and nearly plummeted into the abyss below. Legolas grabbed him by the beard.

"Argh, not the beard!" yelled the dwarf, and for good reason. There was suddenly a tearing sound, and Gimli started to fall again. Legolas had to reach down, grab his collar and drag him onto solid ground to save him.

"What was that about?" asked Sam, one eyebrow raised.

Gimli did not answer however; he was knelt on the ground with his head in his hands, sobbing. Legolas was left standing there, holding the remnants of his beard in one perfectly manicured hand.

"It's a fake?" said Boromir.

Gimli wailed even harder.

Merry spoke up: "I thought all dwarves had beards?"

"Shut up!" sobbed Gimli, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Just shut up!"

"How come you haven't got a beard?" asked Pippin. "Did you lose it?"

"No," cried Gimli, snatching back his beard from Legolas. "I had a little accident with my razor. It's not exactly easy shaving in the pitch black darkness of Moria you know." He shuffled his feet. "I've been holding it on with sticky tape for three days."

They didn't know whether to be sad, amused or freaked out. But suddenly a shout interrupted this random little scenario: "Umm, y'know, we are still in the middle of dire peril here _kthanxbye._"

They all looked up to see Aragorn and Frodo, who were both stood there, tapping their feet impatiently, as the stairs before them crumbled away. The gap was too huge to jump.

"Hey," said Gandalf, shrugging. "What do you want me to do? It's not like I have magical powers or anything."

"Um, actually-"

There was another roar. This time, however, it was the Balrog that was approaching. The ceiling shook. Rocks crumbled and smashed into the stairs that the ranger and the hobbit stood on. The structure teetered dangerously.

"Hang on!" said Aragorn, holding onto Frodo. "Lean forward!"

And so, in true Tolkien style, they surfed those stairs for all they were worth, until they pitched forward with their weight, and finally slammed forward and closed the gap. They both leapt to safety, and Boromir rushed forward and caught Aragorn as he landed. And he kept hold of him for at least another minute.

"Boromir," hissed the ranger, noticing everyone else's stares. "I'm okay. You can let go now."

But the hug lasted and lasted. Aragorn looked impatiently at his watch.

**XXX**

In a massive stroke of luck, the fangirls chasing them had noticed the heroic antics of the Fellowship as they descended the Stairs of Doom and promptly fainted in pleasure. Seeing this, the group took the opportunity to flee as fast as was humanly (or, in some cases, hobbitly, elvenly and dwarfishly) possible.

When they had finally peeled Aragorn and Boromir apart, the Company fled down the stairs, away from the heat of the approaching Balrog.

Presently, they passed a sign which read: _Bridge ahead. Please mind your step._

Before them, rather unsurprisingly, there spanned a bridge across a deep chasm. Gandalf suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Over the bridge!" he cried, flailing his arms about. "Fly!"

And they all groaned again. Now the wizard thought he could fly. Deciding it might be a blessing for him to be consumed by the Balrog, they all skedaddled pronto across the Bridge, which was about as narrow as a toothpick. Those dwarf architects really were a bunch of idiots.

Once they had reached the other side, they turned to see Gandalf facing down the Balrog. The wizard was tiny in comparison to the huge beast, which was nothing more than shadow and flame, with a couple of wings attached in order to please the tourists.

"You cannot pass!" said Gandalf, stamping his foot and pointing a finger at the Balrog. "Now, me and my friends have been nothing but polite since we set foot in Moria, and I for one am sick of being attacked and chased-"

"Not to mention being stabbed!" yelled Frodo, shaking a hobbit fist. "What is it with you guys and stabbing me?"

Gandalf lit up his staff with a blinding light.

"I am the servant of the secret fire," he cried, shaking. "Wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!"

And the Balrog just yawned, and smacked Gandalf on the head with its flaming sword. There was a huge explosion as the magic and the fire collided. The Balrog fell back, thwarted for the moment.

"Go back to the shadow!" spat Gandalf.

The others watched on in horror, except for Aragorn and Boromir, who were taking odds on who would win.

Next, the Balrog produced a flaming whip, and lashed it upon the got Gandalf slightly mad: "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" he yelled, before smashing his staff upon the Bridge beneath his feet. Nothing seemed to happen, and the Balrog broke into fits of laughter. In fact, the entire Company did.

"Shut up!" hissed Gandalf, jumping up and down and flailing his arms about. "This is meant to be my climactic death scene and you're wrecking it!"

A cracking sound followed this outburst, and suddenly the Bridge was crumbling beneath the Balrog's feet. It fell into the abyss, wailing: "I regret nothing!"

And then Gandalf did the dumbest thing a victorious champion can ever do; he turned around.

With a roar, the Balrog struck out with its whip, and caught hold of Gandalf's ankle, pulling him down until he clung to the edge of the broken Bridge, with the darkness of the abyss yawning below him.

"Talk about a cliffhanger!"

They all turned and glared at Legolas. Aragorn clouted him with one of Sam's skillets. Then there was an exasperated cough, and they turned their attention back to Gandalf, who was looking slightly perturbed.

"Hey, I don't steal the spotlight when it comes to _your_ big scenes! I'd appreciate a little attention here. I'm about to fall!"

They all shuffled their feet.

"Sorry."

"That's better. Now get back to the script!" And he took one last look at them, and muttered: "Fly you fools!"

And then he was gone.

Frodo frowned.

"What did he say?"

"I think it was 'cry you tools!'" said Sam.

"No, no." Pippin shook his head. "It was definitely 'die you mules!'"

"'Bye you jewels?'"

"It was 'Hi you ghouls!'"

"DOES IT REALLY BLOODY WELL MATTER?" yelled Gimli. "My beard is hanging on by a thread here! Try and gain a little perspective, will ya?"

Sam frowned

"Didn't Gandalf just die?"

"Who's Gandalf?"

"Never mind."

An arrow flew over their heads. They turned, and suddenly noticed orcs appearing across the way. It was time to leave.

Aragorn meanwhile was frozen to the spot, stunned. Completely stunned. How could Gandalf have lost? It just defied all expectation.

"Here," he muttered, forking over several hundred Gondorian dollars to Boromir, who took them with a smarmy grin.

"Pleasure doing business," he said, stuffing the wad of notes into his pocket. "Now, I suggest you duck that arrow headed for your face and RUN LIKE HELL!"

And so he did.

**XXX**

Conveniently, the exit to the Mines was but a few short steps away. When they finally escaped the darkness, they found themselves in a landscape of barren rock. Everyone was crying (except Legolas, who was too busy powdering his nose). Aragorn slapped him. Legolas began to cry too.

The ranger stood, wiping clean his sword. He resheathed it with a sigh, and then turned to the others.

"Legolas, get them up."

Boromir was enraged: "Give them a moment for pity's sake."

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up."

He knelt down, pulled up Sam, then looked about. "Frodo?" He spotted the hobbit some ways off. "Frodo!"

And the yell reverberated through the hills. Frodo slowly turned. A silent tear slid down his cheek. Then he took out a hanky, and blew on it noisily.


	14. The Woods of Lothlóreal

_Ack. Sorry guys. I didn't realise it had taken me so long to update this until I checked the dates. I took a little break from the net and was promptly buried under a mound of coursework and essays. Plus, Galadriel's scenes are extremely hard to parody – she's just too damned ambiguous for her own good._

_Anyways, enough of my ramblings. Reviews equals happy author. Happy author equals cookies. Cookies equals happy readers. Isn't maths fun?_

**XXX**

It took the Fellowship exactly one scene to come to terms with their grief over Gandalf's death. Aragorn didn't seem to be affected at all. He was running around, splashing in puddles and grinning like a Cheshire cat five minutes after they had exited Moria. Frodo wondered if the ranger didn't have something to do with the wizard's death: after all, he _had_ gained immediate leadership of the Company once Gandalf was out of the picture.

_But why then, _wondered Frodo, _did he bet _against_ Gandalf?_

The answer was simple: the guy was an idiot.

"Come, my companions!" Aragorn cried. "I will lead the way! Fear not!" He gestured with his sword. "To the woods of Lothlóreal!"

Boromir rolled his eyes.

"It's Lothló_rien_."

"Whatever."

**XXX**

It seemed that the orcs who had chased them for so many miles through the darkness of Moria were allergic to sunlight; that, or a scene had been cut from the movie, for the Fellowship suddenly found themselves safe and sound under the eaves of Lórien, with absolutely no signs of pursuit.

"Yay!" said Merry. "Aren't continuity errors the best?"

The rest of the Company stayed silent. The distant song of unseen birds, along with the creaking of branches, was quite unsettling. Above their heads, trees of unfathomable heights stretched spiraling towards the sky. It was as though they had stepped into another world, full of mystery and menace and ancient wonderm -

"You know what?" said Boromir, folding his arms with impatience. "It just looks like a bunch of trees to me."

"Ah," said Gimli, "but they say there's a great sorceress who lives in these woods: an elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell... and are never seen again."

Aragorn raised a hand.

"Except for me."

Gimli sighed.

"Look, I'm trying to build a little tension for the audience here. You wanna stop stepping all over my lines? Huh?"

Aragorn frowned.

"I thought it was cause you are gonna fall madly in love with the aforementioned sorceress and speaking ill of her beforehand only serves to heighten the delicious irony?"

"But isn't that only in the extended version?"

"Quiet you."

But no one was listening to this little exchange. They were far more concerned with the dozens of elves who had suddenly leapt out of the trees. Arrows were poised upon their bowstrings.

Frodo jumped. Pippin screamed. Sam gasped. Gimli growled. Boromir sighed. Aragorn groaned. Legolas fainted. Merry laughed.

They all turned and stared at the hobbit.

"What? The author ran out of verbs."

From amidst this wall of bows and arrows there stepped a rather fetching blonde elf, sporting a very smarmy grin. His name was Haldir.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

"Excuse me," answered Gimli, puffing out his chest. "I believe you meant 'the dwarf breathes so loud_ly_'. '_Loud' _is both grammatically incorrect and far too colloquial for such an occasion and time period. And I thought the elves were meant to be wise! For shame!"

Haldir turned red.

"Hey, we are _so _elven wise! I was just reading what it said in the damned script!"

Gimli ignored this however, and began to sing: "HALDIR CAN'T SPELL! HALDIR CAN'T SPELL!"

"Shut up! Shut up!" The elf scowled. "How dare you mock me? Dammit, I am a wise and immortal being, I don't need this!"

But Gimli continued to sing. Haldir promptly had a full-blown hissy fit and then stormed off. Peter Jackson jumped out from behind the camera and followed him. The Fellowship was left facing two generic background elves holding bows. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

Aragorn rocked back and forth on his heels.

"So. You guys are elves then?"

"Yup."

"Uh huh."

The ranger nodded.

"Good, good… That's good." He looked around. "Wonderful trees you have here."

"Thanks."

Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of yelling could be heard.

Aragorn laughed uneasily, and then turned to Generic Background Elf with a Bow #2 and said: "Hey, could we crash in your woods for the night? I mean, we won't be any trouble, despite the fact that we are (apparently) being pursued by enough orcs to fill the whole of Moria, and carrying with us a weapon so evil that Hell itself spat it back out."

The elf shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

**XXX**

For some inexplicable reason, everything had turned a rather ethereal shade of blue.

With many a confused glance, the Fellowship followed their elven guides, and began to trek up a rather steep set of winding stairs dotted about with fairy lights, leading up towards the elven city of Caras Galadhon.

"Y'know," muttered Boromir, voicing everybody's thoughts, "for a super sophisticated elven city, you think they would have installed an elevator."

It took them a while, but they were finally near the top. They were just about to set foot upon the topmost flet when Pippin spotted a lever on the wall. His eyes widened.

"Oh my God!" he squealed, dancing about excitedly. "Oh my God! Super fun happy slide!"

And before anyone could react, he had pulled the lever, and suddenly the steps beneath their feet gave way, and the handrails disappeared.

"Pippin?"

"Yes."

"We hate you."

**XXX**

Six hours later, the Fellowship finally reached Caras Galadhon. In order to reach the top without Pippin turning the stairs into a slide again, they had been forced to whack the hobbit over the head with one of Sam's skillets and lay him out cold. And then Frodo had accidentally leant against the lever as he helped haul the senseless hobbit up the stairs, and down they had all went again.

Needless to say, they were all feeling slightly testy once they had reached the top. The sight before their eyes, however, removed the drudgery of the journey from their minds. Before them was a set of carven stairs, and beyond it lay nestled between the branches a huge flet, delicately carved, shining with an otherworldly light; the royal hall of a city in the trees.

Sam raised a hand.

"Is anyone else having _Swiss Family Robinson_ flashbacks?"

At the top they were led into an open courtyard. Another staircase was before them, and at its head stood two elven guards, dressed in ceremonial armour and clutching elven spears. Both remained rigid as the Fellowship gathered at the foot of the stairs.

"Ooh," said Pippin, grinning, "I've heard about these guards! You can make stupid faces in front of them and they can't do a thing about it!"

"But that's the guards at Buckingham-" Sam had the breath knocked out of him by an elbow to the gut. The rest of the Fellowship glared at him. "I, er, I mean, you're right! Unresponsive guards - go for it!"

Pippin turned to the rest of the Fellowship, who all nodded their heads. Spurred on, the Scottish hobbit broke away from the group and scampered up the stairs, giggling.

Ten minutes later, he was wheeled away on a gurney.

"So, Estel, you finally came to visit your in-laws..."

They all turned around. There at the top of the stairs was Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien. He had long blonde hair, and the sternest eyes you have ever seen. Folding his arms, he leveled an accusing stare at a certain ranger.

Aragorn gave a sheepish grin.

"Well, you know, I've been busy with this whole ranger deal, and Arwen's always such a handful, and, I, you know, I sent you guys a card at Christmas and never got anything back-"

"Nonsense!" cried Celeborn, putting his hands on his hips. "Galadriel baked you a whole batch of chocolate chip cookies as a thank you. We sent them months ago."

"You did?" Aragorn frowned. "Hmm, I think Elrond's been going through my mail again…"

There was a loud cough.

Aragorn turned, and his eyes landed upon the Fellowship, who were standing expectantly behind him.

"Oh yes, sorry." The ranger waved a hand back and forth. "Celeborn, this is the Fellowship of the Ring, Fellowship of the Ring, this is Celeborn."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"So," said Aragorn, "where _is_ Galadriel?"

The elf shrugged.

"Beats me. When you have a dominatrix, schizophrenic, telepathic wife like her, you tend not to question her whereabouts. She gets a little testy." He descended the stairs, throwing an awkward glance over his shoulder as he did so, just to check that the aforementioned dominatrix, schizophrenic, telepathic wife was not listening in. Then he stopped in front of the Fellowship, raised an eyebrow in confusion, and counted them on his fingers. "Eight there are here yet nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

Boromir raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, what's with the incredibly elongated monotone?"

Celeborn scowled.

"Hey, give me a break. They reduced my character to one bloody line. The longer I take to say it, the more screen time I get out of it." He folded his arms. "Besides, I never liked that Gandalf anyways. Last time he was here, he was always looking down Galadriel's top."

"As I recall, I didn't particularly mind."

They all turned again. At the top of the stairs stood Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien. She was ageless, beautiful and very tall, with long golden hair and eyes like deep wells of memory. (In other words, it was obvious she had had Botox done).

"Greetings mortals," she said, in a ridiculously fairy-like voice. "I am Aphrodite, I-I mean, Galadriel, wisest of all elves. Marvel at my god-like presence."

And marvel they did, until she tripped over her feet and tumbled to the floor in a huge elven heap.

"Damn stilettos,' she growled. Celeborn looked at her and giggled.

"Wow," he said, looking her up and down. "I never realised you were so short. Really ruins that whole god-like presence, doesn't it?"

Galadriel kicked him in the shin.

"Umm, so, yeah." Aragorn rubbed the back of his neck. "We're kinda on this whole doom-laden quest thing. And Gandalf is dead." Silence. "Yeah, I wasn't really bothered about it either."

"Please," said Frodo, rolling his eyes. "We got over that two scenes ago."

Galadriel mused over this information.

"Hmm, yes. Things do look quite dire." Her eyes trailed towards Sam, and she scowled. "How dare you think that, you insolent fool! I have _not _had Botox done!"

Sam blushed furiously.

Merry's eyes widened.

"You can really read our thoughts? I thought he just made that up!"

"Not at all," she said, smiling. "I am as telepathic as this movie is long." She looked around, and then pointed at Aragorn. "For example, he is thinking about the time that he and Arwen had crazy monkey sex right here on this flet." Everyone took a rather disgusted step back. Galadriel then pointed at Gimli. "He thinks that Boromir looks remarkably like a female dwarf." Boromir punched Gimli. "Frodo agrees." Boromir punched Frodo. "Sam is having major cravings for a buffet, Legolas is feeling threatened by my amazing beauty, and Boromir…" She fixed him with an accusing stare. "I know what you did last summer."

The Gondorian dissolved into tears.

Aragorn just sighed.

"Look, you've had your over glorified cameo. Can we please just go? This scene is pretty pointless if you ask me."

Celeborn scowled.

"Hey, this scene isn't pointless! _I'm_ in it."

Silence reigned.

"Okay!" said Galadriel, clapping her hands together. "If you'd like to follow me, I'll lead you past all of the magnificent, empty five-star lodgings we have in Lothlórien and make you all sleep on the grass…"

The Fellowship filed past at the heels of their host. Celeborn was left alone on the stairs.

For a moment, he just stood there with tears welling up in his eyes. Then he turned and ran away, sobbing, with half a mind to go and raid the fridge for a tub of double chocolate chip ice cream.

**XXX**

A few hours later, the Fellowship was resting on the grass beneath the trees. Above them, the elves were singing. Very badly. Sam longed to throw a rock at them.

A few feet away, Legolas was walking through the glade, dressed in a pretty nifty new tunic. He was carrying a silver ewer. No one knew why.

"A lament for Gandalf," he said.

"What do they say about him?" asked Merry.

"I have not the heart to tell you," said Legolas, bowing his head. "For me the grief is still too near."

Merry raised an eyebrow. The prospect of Legolas showing emotion was as unlikely as Samwise Gamgee using a plate at a buffet.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the Fellowship's camp there was a trickling fountain. Nearby, a broody Boromir was sitting upon a tree root with his head bowed. Aragorn came and joined him.

"Take some rest," said the ranger. "These borders are well protected."

Boromir shook his head.

"I will find no rest here," he murmured. "I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope."

Aragorn sighed.

'What part of 'take some rest' did you not understand? I have no intention of listening to your extremely emo ramblings, thank you very much."

Boromir grinned.

"Well, tough." He gestured to the tree root beside him. "I'm dying soon and I need to fit in a boring monologue whilst I can. And now that you're here you have to listen to it. Sit."

"Great," mumbled Aragorn, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go and kill myself for bringing this up…"

But Boromir would not be deterred: "My father is a noble man," he said, "but his rule is failing. And now our people lose faith. He looks to me to set things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." He sighed. "Have you ever seen it Aragorn? The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze?"

Aragorn, who was busy fashioning a rope into a noose and hanging it from a nearby tree, stopped for a moment, and raised an eyebrow.

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

Boromir paused for a moment.

"I have no bloody clue," he said, frowning. "And frankly I am quite disturbed by the phallic imagery I just conjured up." He shook his head a little. "Anyways, regarding this vague Gondor of which I speak: have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

"Nope," said Aragorn. "I use this new-fangled invention called the telephone."

Boromir smiled. "One day," he said, "our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards shall take up the call: '_The Lords of Gondor have returned_!'"

"Or, y'know, '_the King of Gondor and his whipping boy have returned_'."

Boromir sat for a moment, dwelling on this, and then spoke up: "Aragorn?"

"Hmm?" The ranger was busy tightening the noose about his neck.

"Why does Jackson keep giving us random angsty scenes together?"

The ranger shrugged.

"Either he's trying to heighten the tragedy of your eventual death, or, y'know, he's secretly a big huge slasher."

Boromir nodded.

"Probably both."


	15. Frodo and the Argonaths

_Oops. Another long delay. But I had a good excuse this time – I only just finished my A-levels, and damn, they took up a lot of my time. Seriously, when you procrastinate as much as me you never get anything done. But I have a lot more free time now, and there's only one chapter of the Fellowship left, and then it is on to the Two Towers, yay!_

_Ooh yes, and if you're wondering, the whole trilogy is going to be covered in this one story, so no need to go fishing around for sequels._

**XXX**

The Fellowship slept. Frodo did not. From afar he saw Galadriel sleep walking, and decided to follow her, since he had nothing better to do anyways.

In the end, she led him down into a beautiful garden, by way of another set of unnecessarily steep stairs. In the centre of the lawn stood a huge basin. She filled a silver ewer she had stolen from Legolas with water, and took a swig from it.

"Drink?" she said, offering Frodo the ewer.

The hobbit raised an eyebrow.

"Um, no thanks."

With a shrug, Galadriel turned away. Slowly, she tipped the ewer and made to pour the remnants of its contents into the basin, her eyes fixed directly on the hobbit as she did so. The only problem was a resulting lack of depth perception meant she was actually watering the lawn. Frodo found it hard to keep a straight face.

"Will you look into the mirror?" she asked.

"What will I see?"

Galadriel raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of stupid question is that? It's a mirror, for Eru's sake."

"Well, I don't know," said Frodo. "It doesn't even look like a bloody mirror. It just looks like a birdbath to me."

Galadriel shooed away a dove which was preening its feathers in the water.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

So, with a roll of his eyes, Frodo stepped up to the mirror, and gazed into its depths. A sleep-deprived hobbit stared back at him. With a hint of embarrassment, he also noticed that his roots were starting to show.

Galadriel began to chant: "_Mirror, mirror on the lawn, who is the fairest of them all?_"

After a moment the waters stirred, and Legolas appeared in their surface.

Galadriel gave a low growl, and thrust a hand into the waters, fracturing the image. The waters rippled for a moment, and then reassembled into an image of Merry and Pippin. Another growl, and another disturbance of the waters. This time Sam appeared in their surface.

Galadriel thrust her arm into the basin once more, and kept it there.

"Never mind," she growled. "Just show him the damned future."

So the waters stirred again, and this time they showed the Shire. Galadriel lifted her arm out of the basin with a smirk.

However, the idyllic scene before their eyes swiftly changed. Dark figures were marching around, waving scimitars, and cutting down defenceless hobbits. The houses were burning.

"It's the scouring of the Shire!" cried Frodo. "Cool, I really _am_ seeing the future!"

Galadriel coughed.

"Ooh, sorry," said Frodo. "Movieverse, bookverse… y'know, it's hard not to get the two mixed up." The sound of hissing could be heard from the purists in the audience. "…I'll shut up now."

Frodo turned back to the mirror, and suddenly there appeared the Eye of Sauron. He let out a girlish squeal. The Ring grew heavy on its chain about his neck, and he was dragged down by the weight of it. "Gah," he said, "Stupid magnetic Sauron."

So he grabbed the Ring back, and threw himself backwards, falling over. Again.

Galadriel rolled her eyes, along with the rest of the audience.

"I know what it is you saw," said Galadriel. "For I sneaked a look." Frodo picked himself up, and dusted himself off. "It is what will come to pass if you should fail."

"Um, yeah," said the hobbit. "Have you even _read_ the Lord of the Rings? The scouring of the Shire is gonna happen no matter what I do, _kthanx_."

Galadriel frowned.

"Well, what's the point in that?"

Frodo shrugged.

"Wow," said Galadriel, her frown deepening, "it must really suck to be you."

"Tell me about it."

"So," she said, "what the hell is the point in you even bothering to go on this Quest?"

Frodo shrugged again.

"I dunno."

"Tell you what," said Galadriel, mulling this over. "You can give the Ring to me if you like. That way you won't have to worry about it, and I can hawk it off on eBay."

"Okay then," said Frodo, grinning. "That sounds reasonable. I mean, it's not like you're a complete stranger or anything, and it's not as though I'm shirking off an extremely dangerous item that I swore to guard to my death in front of a council of my peers or anything."

He opened his palm and revealed the Ring. Galadriel began to drool.

"You offer it to me freely," she said. "I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired this."

And so she came for the Ring, but then her schizophrenia kicked in, and suddenly before Frodo there stood a darker (and frankly much hotter) version of Galadriel, who bore more than a passing resemblance to a certain mutated comic book hero.

The hobbit's face fell.

"Somebody is getting sued for copyright infringement."

"IN PLACE OF A DARK LORD," yelled Galadriel/Storm, "YOU WILL HAVE A QUEEN! NOT DARK BUT AS BEAUTIFUL AND TERRIBLE AS THE DAWN! TREACHEROUS AS THE SEA! STRONGER THAN THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE EARTH! ALL SHALL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR!"

Frodo scratched himself on the head.

"Um, yeah. Don't you have a husband already?"

Galadriel's eyes went blank, and she stood a moment, rolling the word over and over on her tongue: "_Hus..band?"_

Frodo's face fell.

"Never mind."

Probably sensing how ridiculous she looked, Galadriel soon returned to normal.

"I pass the test!" she said, with a gentle laugh. "I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

Frodo just stood there.

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

She shook her head.

"I have absolutely no idea."

Frodo put his face in his hands.

**XXX**

Orthanc. 1800 hours.

All work and no play make Saruman a dull wizard.

Solution: Inspect the troops.

"Do you know how the Orcs first came into being?" said Saruman. "They were elves once, taken by the dark powers. Tortured and mutilated, a ruined and terrible form of life. Now perfected - my fighting Uruk-Hai. Whom do you serve?"

Lurtz the Uruk-hai raised an eyebrow.

"Who the heck says 'whom' anymore?"

Saruman smacked him.

"Just say your one damn line in the scene. And put some heart into it!"

"Umm, SARUMAN?"

"That's better."

And the wizard watched the other Uruks being fitted with armour and armed with crude scimitars.

"Hunt them down!" cried Saruman. "Do not stop until they are found. You do not know pain. You do not know fear. You will taste man flesh!"

They all growled. Actually, it was their stomachs that did the growling. They hadn't eaten since being born, which was only a few scenes ago, but still. They had large appetites.

"One of the halflings carries something of great value," said Saruman. "Bring them to me alive and unspoiled. Kill the others!" He looked upon them with an evil grin, and then cried, "Fetch!"

And the Uruk-hai all ran off like faithful dogs, with their tongues and tails wagging. Yes, they had tails.

It was a fetish thing.

**XXX**

And so the Company prepared to leave fair Lothlórien, after a short and rather uneventful stay within its borders. Aragorn had washed his hair, and somebody shot a duck, but that was about it.

In the end Frodo had kept his Ring, since he figured giving it to a dominatrix, schizophrenic, telepathic elf maiden was not the best of ideas. That, and Peter Jackson had yelled at him about it.

"Look what Galadriel gave to me!" he said to Sam, digging around in his pocket. The two hobbits were currently sat in an elven boat steered by Aragorn, who kept performing barrel rolls, much to their annoyance.

In the hobbit's hand there lay a crystal vial, which was sparkling with some unknown radiance.

Sam was unimpressed: "What is it?"

Frodo shrugged.

"I don't know, but look how shiny!"

Aragorn – who had been eavesdropping as he steered the boat – spoke up: "It's the Light of Earendil, you twonk."

"What's a Light of Earendil?" asked Sam.

The ranger shrugged.

"Haven't got a clue, but look how shiny!"

A little further downstream, Boromir was steering another boat containing Merry and Pippin. Beside them floated Gimli and a rather distressed Legolas, who was complaining that he didn't have enough room for all of his beauty products, and so something would have to be jettisoned.

In the end, a fiercely protesting dwarf was thrown out of the boat.

**XXX**

And so the Company sailed along the Anduin. In the surrounding forests, the Uruk-hai ran. The Company sailed. The Uruk-hai ran. The Uruk-hai were so busy watching the Company sailing, they ran smack off the edge off of a cliff.

Saruman began squeezing very hard on a Chinese worry ball.

"This is doing nothing for my image," he muttered.

**XXX**

The Company, watching yet another band of Uruk-hai run themselves off a cliff, all muttered: "This is doing nothing for his image."

Then they turned their attention back to the Not-So-Great River. It was just a bunch of water. No big deal really.

Aragorn tapped Frodo on the shoulder.

"The Argonath!" he said. "Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin!"

And so Frodo lifted his head, and saw on the horizon two towering figures of rock, carved from the living mountainside. They stood on either side of the River, and each held out their palm by way of warning to travelers. He gazed on them in awe.

But then they drew closer, and Frodo's expression changed. The figures before them seemed to shrink, and by the time they reached them, they stood no taller than a hobbit.

Aragorn was so excited, he began to rock the boat and squeal in delight. Frodo and Sam turned and glared at him. His mouth froze in the middle of a 'Woohoo!'

"What?" he asked.

"They're tiny!"

He frowned.

"Your point being?"

"Well, wouldn't they be a tad more impressive if they were, say, a hundred feet tall?"

Aragorn shrugged.

"Nah. That'd just be pretentious."

Frodo gaped.

"Well, sorry to seem pretentious _Mr. Oh-by-the-way-did-I-mention-I'm-King_?"

Sam nudged him.

"That's book Aragorn, Mr. Frodo. Movie Aragorn is _Mr. Oh-woe-is-me-I-don't-wanna-be-King_!"

The vein above Frodo's eye began to tick.

"Does it really BLOODY WELL MATTER?"

And all the book purists in the audience leapt from their seats and yelled: "IT BLOODY WELL DOES!"

Sam rubbed his forehead.

"You had to go there, didn't you?"

**XXX**

The Fellowship finally reached the falls of Rauros, after a few boring days of river travel, wherein Boromir had tried to knock Legolas out of his boat and drown him in the Anduin. All sixty attempts had failed, to the displeasure of everyone.

As they pulled up on the shore of Parth Galen, Boromir looked troubled. Everyone just assumed it was due to his failed attempts at murder, but Frodo had other ideas as the Fellowship set up camp and Pippin stoked the world's smallest camp fire. Legolas decided to just stand there and stare blankly into the trees. No one cared why.

"We cross the lake at nightfall," said Aragorn, picking up everyone's dirty washing. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh, yes?" said Gimli. "And then it's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands far as the eye can see!"

Pippin smacked him.

"Don't leak details of the next movie!"

Legolas seemed to have finished with his blank staring, since he came over to Aragorn and pulled him aside.

"We should leave now," he said.

"Why?"

"Because!" Legolas pouted. "I'm getting hardly any screen time in this scene. You just had a conversation with Gimli for Eru's sake." He grabbed Aragorn by the collar and shook him. "_Gimli!_"

Merry returned to the camp with some firewood, and frowned.

"Where's Frodo?" he asked.

And they realised the hobbit was missing.

"What in Eru could he be doing?" wondered Aragorn.

**XXX**

Frodo was skipping through the forest.

"La, la, la," he sang.

He then saw a giant head amongst the leaves, and let out a girlish squeal. After poking it with a stick though, he deduced that it was made of stone and so unlikely to eat him.

Frodo went back to his skipping. A few feet away, Boromir was also skipping, and collecting firewood. Once he saw the hobbit however, he stopped skipping and put on an air of manliness.

"None of us should wander alone," he said. "You least of all. So much depends on you. Frodo?" The hobbit stopped skipping, but did not answer. "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer; I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths that we might take."

"What paths?" asked Frodo. "What do you suggest I do – bungee jump into Mordor? Dig a tunnel under Mount Doom? Better yet, I could phone up the King of the Eagles and ask him to give me an all-expenses-paid flight into Mordor. Does that sound at all feasible to you?"

Boromir paused.

"Well, actually-"

"No!" cried Frodo, waving his arms in the air. "No, I don't want to hear it! I have to take the Ring to Mordor alone. This is the only path, or at least the only path that will take three films to wander."

Boromir massaged his temples.

"Frodo, don't you see that this is madness?"

"There is no other way!" said Frodo, folding his arms in a huff. "Galadriel said so."

"And you believe everything Galadriel tells you?" The man rolled his eyes. "If Galadriel told you to jump off a cliff, would you?"

Frodo shrugged.

Boromir groaned, and turned his face to the sky.

"Why Eru, why? I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" He threw his firewood to the ground, and folded his own arms in a huff. They both stood there, unblinking. Frodo's eyes began to water. "If you would but lend me the Ring..."

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Boromir grew angry: "Why do you recoil? I am no thief."

"You are not yourself," said Frodo sternly.

"What chance do you think you have?" cried Boromir. "Seriously? The implausibility of this story completely astounds me."

Frodo turned away.

"Fool!" he spat, chasing after the dear little hobbit, whose legs had turned to jelly. "You're completely clueless, aren't you? It is not yours save by an unhappy chance. It could have been mine!" He rugby tackled Frodo, and started groping him for all he was worth. Frodo's eyes bulged in horror.

"Boromir!" he said, scandalized.

"It should be mine!" whined Boromir. "Give it to me!"

They began to struggle. Frodo gasped.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not that kind of hobbit!"

"Give me the Ring!" grunted Boromir.

And Frodo had no choice but to put on the Ring and get the heck outta there. He gave Boromir a quick kick in the gonads, just for, well, kicks.

The man fell to the floor, clutching his groin and howling in pain. Frodo quickly left.

"Frodo!" he yelled, seething. "How dare you damage the Gondorian jewels! I see your mind. You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us! You go to your death and the death of us all! Curse you! Curse you and all the halflings!"

Then he tripped over his own cloak, and fell smack on his face. He passed a hand over his eyes. The madness had left him.

"Frodo?" he said, his lip quivering. "Frodo? What have I done? Frodo!"

But the hobbit did not answer. Boromir let out a whimper, and crawled off to find an icepack.


	16. Much With The Dying

_Wow. I swear this update was cursed. Firstly, despite it being summer, I seemed to be busy at every single moment and never had a chance to sit down and write it. Secondly, I had the worst writer's block ever and could not seem to write it when I found a moment (I blame it on all of the action and death scenes, which are too serious for their own good). And, thirdly, I had the update nearly finished and then my computer randomly decided to swallow it up. Gah._

_So here it is – the last and most difficult installment of the Fellowship. Now I get to move onto the Two Towers, yay!_

**XXX**

Frodo ran.

As the shadows swirled about him once more, he rushed to the top of Amon Hen, and there found the crumbling remains of the Seat of Seeing. His sight was drawn towards Mordor, and suddenly the tower of Barad-dûr and the Eye were before him.

He gasped and pulled off the ring, before falling head over heels from the Seat. Well, his stunt double did anyways.

"Frodo?"

It was Aragorn.

"It has taken Boromir," cried Frodo.

The ranger grew angry.

"Where is the Ring?" he growled.

Frodo was offended: "What do you take me for? Some idiotic, butter-fingered hobbit who loses the Ring at every single opportu…" He began to pat himself down. "Oh, bugger."

Aragorn slapped himself in the forehead.

"You've bloody gone and lost it again, haven't you?"

"Of course not." By this point, Frodo was on all fours, crawling around in the undergrowth. He spotted something glinting near his foot. "Aha, there it is! It must have fallen out of my pocket."

Aragorn shook his head.

"I'm just glad you didn't drop it in the bloody Anduin again. It took us two days to find it the last time."

Frodo stuck out his tongue, and returned the Ring to its chain about his neck.

"You're just jealous because you want the Ring for yourself."

The ranger shrugged.

"Not particularly. I do already have a ring…" He fiddled with the Ring of Barahir upon his hand.

Frodo frowned.

"I thought you gave that to Arwen?"

Aragorn stroked it protectively.

"But it's so shiny…"

The hobbit rolled his eyes.

"I thought you were supposed to be Isildur's heir."

"Your point being?"

Frodo groaned.

"Well, you're meant to be all Ring grabby and stuff."

"Despite the fact I have shown no interest in the Ring for the last three and a bit hours?"

The hobbit's face fell.

"Shut up, _kthanx_."

Aragorn walked forwards, and knelt down before the hobbit.

"I would have gone with you to the end," he said. "Into the very fires of Mordor."

"Yeah right," said the hobbit. "Just look after the others, will you? Especially Sam. He'll probably try and gorge himself to death."

Aragorn nodded, secretly displeased that he had to look after a bumbling buffet-obsessed hobbit for the next few months. Then he noticed something, and suddenly drew his sword, slashing Frodo across the face in the process.

"Oops, sorry."

Frodo started sobbing, and dancing about on the spot, trying to staunch the blood which seemed to plume from his head like a faulty sprinkler system

Aragorn cringed, and looked at the hobbit, and then at the dozens and dozens of Uruk-hai that were coming towards him.

"Run!" he told Frodo, "Run!"

And Frodo ran, still spouting blood, and Aragorn wondered if the Uruks would just follow the trail as he put his sword to his face in a salute.

Then he swung his blade about in slow motion, and the fight was on.

**XXX**

The aforementioned bumbling buffet-obsessed hobbit was skipping through the woods, looking for Frodo. Suddenly he heard the clash of swords.

"Mr. Frodo?" he cried.

**XXX**

Some ways off, Lurtz had arrived on the scene. He was the new leader of the fighting Uruk-hai, and he was pissed.

"Find the Halflings! Find the Halflings!" he yelled. He was too lazy to do it himself, the others realised, as they scattered throughout the forest to look for their prey. He ran a pretty tight shift, but at least he had stopped them from running off another cliff.

Raging with bloodlust and hunger, they went on a hobbit hunt.

**XXX**

"LOOK OUT BELOW!" screamed Aragorn, as he was tossed rather spectacularly from the top of the Seat of Seeing. Despite his initial bravado, he was losing this fight rather badly, but Jackson had managed to convince the audience otherwise with a bit of clever editing.

"Damn," said the ranger, climbing to his feet, "I broke a tooth." And he picked it up off the floor, and held it up to the light. "Don't suppose any of you have any super glue?"

The Uruks just growled. He took that as a maybe.

Thankfully Legolas and Gimli soon arrived to save his miserable yet beautifully toned behind.

With hands quicker than sight, Legolas downed three Uruk-hai in a row. Gimli ran about, stabbing and slashing with his axe.

"Aragorn, go!" cried the elf, and the ranger promptly skedaddled from the vicinity.

Gimli groaned.

"Go and get Frodo, you idiot!"

And the ranger grinned rather sheepishly, and went off in the other direction.

**XXX**

By now the bulgy eyed hobbit had stopped bleeding, and he promptly flung himself behind a tree as a pack of Uruk-hai chased him. How they didn't notice him as they passed was anyone's guess.

In the bushes opposite, Merry and Pippin called to him: "Frodo! Hide here, quick! Come on!"

The hobbit just shook his head, resolute.

"What's he doing?" asked Pippin, turning to Merry.

"He's shaking his head. It means 'no'."

"I know what it means, you gimboid."

"Well then, why the heck did you ask-?"

"Er, guys?" said Frodo, waving. "I'm kinda trying to make a dramatic exit here."

"Ooh right," said Pippin. And he climbed out of the bush rather stupidly. Merry followed him. Then they heard growls, and looked up to see a bunch of Uruk-hai coming in their direction.

They looked at Frodo. Frodo looked at them. They were looking at each other.

"Run, Frodo! Go!" cried Merry, and he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled: "Hey! Hey you! Over here! We're causing a diversion!"

Pippin followed suit. And the intellectually challenged Uruk-hai took the bait and came after them. Frodo quickly slipped away.

"It's working!" said Pippin, delighted.

"I know its working! Run!"

So they ran, and found themselves surrounded by even more Uruk-hai. Very hungry Uruk-hai.

"So much for that running plan of yours, Merry."

"Shut up."

The situation was looking pretty dire, as a huge Uruk-hai approached wielding a rather brutal-looking axe. But it never got its dinner. Boromir promptly came charging up and killed it with its own weapon.

"What is wrong with you guys?" cried Boromir, as he threw a knife at another Uruk-hai, which fell with blood gushing from its throat. "One of these days you are going to get someone killed!"

Merry shrugged.

"What are the chances of that?"

**XXX**

At the Seat of Seeing, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli continued to fight. The elf was busy showing off his archery skills, whilst Aragorn had an impromptu waltz with a rather attractive Uruk-hai. Legolas shot it in the back, and Aragorn pouted.

Suddenly, the Horn of Gondor was heard upon the air.

"The Horn of Gondor!" cried Legolas.

"WE KNOW!"

And Aragorn ran down the hill, and cut the legs out from beneath another far less attractive Uruk-hai.

The race was on.

**XXX**

Boromir continued to lay the smackdown on any Uruk-hai that dared approach the hobbits, but the situation was getting pretty desperate.

He sounded the Horn of Gondor again. Seriously. He blew on that bad boy for all it was worth. (I'm not joking here. Why are you all sniggering?)

"Run!" he cried, wielding his sword in defence. The hobbits scampered off, leaving him to stand all by his lonesome. And he was quite a sight to see, dealing out and parrying blows like there was no tomorrow, which there wasn't actually, at least not for him.

But then Lurtz strode into view, and as Boromir was busy dispatching foes left and right, he notched a black tipped arrow to his bow.

Boromir turned, and the bow sang.

_THUD! _

He fell to his knees with an arrow in his shoulder. The hobbits looked on in shock. Boromir just said: "Ow."

More Uruk-hai appeared. Drawing a breath, Boromir gave a cry and continued to battle. But then another arrow flew, and hit him right in the stomach.

He got up again. Lurtz just rolled his eyes, and shot off another arrow. This one hit Boromir right in the chest, and he fell again, and did not have the strength to get back up.

And so the hobbits, seeing their friend had been turned into a human pincushion, took up their own swords and cried: "The Shire!"

But then, in slow motion, they were scooped up by the Uruk-hai, and Boromir yelled at their retreating backs: "I told you so!"

Unfazed, Lurtz strode over to him and readied another arrow, right at the man's head. Boromir simply knelt there, eyes unblinking, and awaited death.

There was a crash to the right. Both the Uruk-hai and the man turned to see Aragorn, covered in dirt, come rolling down the hill. He picked himself up with a groan, and spat leaves out of his mouth.

"I'm here!" he said, standing up and then promptly falling down again. "Stupid gravity."

Boromir rolled his eyes. Lurtz folded his arms, and took an impatient glance at his watch. Aragorn just grinned, and then bowled into the Uruk-hai with a cry of: "Earendil!"

Boromir coughed.

"It's _Elendil_."

"Whatever."

And so Aragorn and Lurtz fought to save Boromir's soul.

The ranger promptly lost his sword in the early goings, and was then pinned to a tree by a handy shield. As Lurtz ran at him with his scimitar, Aragorn slipped out of the trap and stabbed the Uruk-hai in the leg with his knife.

Lurtz was none too happy about this, and threw the knife at Aragorn, who batted it away with his sword like a baseball. Then the ranger got very mad, and began hacking and slashing for all he was worth. He cut off Lurtz's arm and stabbed him through the chest for good measure.

The Uruk-hai pulled the blade deeper into his own flesh, with a "Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah."

Then Aragorn swished his sword around, and lopped the Uruk's head off. He had obviously died, as the cutting off of one's head is often likely to lead to death, but still Aragorn kept hacking. And slashing. And hacking some more.

"Umm, Aragorn?" said Boromir. No answer. "Aragorn?" Still no answer. "ARAGORN?"The ranger looked up, with a face covered in blood and entrails. "I'm kinda, um, dying here."

Aragorn grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry." And he hurried over to kneel before the dying man.

"They took the little ones," said Boromir.

"Be still."

"Frodo?" he asked. "Where is Frodo?"

The ranger frowned.

"I split his head open, and then he ran off. I let him go."  
**  
** "Then you did what I could not," said Boromir. "I tried to take the Ring from him, but he was having none of it."

Aragorn looked forlorn: "The Ring is beyond our reach now."

"Forgive me, I did not see it. I have failed you all."

"No," said Aragorn sternly. "Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honour." He went to yank out the arrows embedded in the man's chest.

"Leave it!" said Boromir. "I've ruined this shirt already. It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness and my city to ruin." Blood oozed from his mouth.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

"Excuse me," said Boromir, "but next time you are dying why don't you tell me how sunny YOUR disposition is?"

"Okay, okay." Aragorn rolled his eyes. "I guess I can spare you this one genuinely emo moment." He sighed. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the white city fall, nor our people fail!"

"Our people?" said Boromir, and he smiled a little. "Our people."

He reached for his sword, and the ranger placed it in his hand. Boromir held it against his chest with a sigh.

"Alas!" he said, "now my life's journey comes to an end, and all light about me fades before the overwhelming shadow."

"Huh?"

"I'm dying."

"Oh right."

The human pin cushion suddenly had a coughing fit. He was only stalling for time really. He knew he had about thirty seconds of life left, and could not for the life of him remember the snappy, extremely memorable last words he had come up with last night. Why he had a feeling he was going to die soon and would require those aforementioned words so urgently only Eru knew.

"Oh yeah!" he cried, smiling amidst his pain. "I would have followed you my brother, my captain, my king!" And he closed his eyes, and awaited death, but it never came. His eyes flew open. "Bugger."

Aragorn's face lit up.

"You're not dead?"

Boromir nodded.

"Apparently so, but I'm gonna die soon. It's just a matter of time…"

They both waited a while. The forest grew silent. An orc lying dead on the ground raised an arm and looked at its wristwatch.

"Ack," said Boromir, and then he died.

Aragorn frowned. The words hadn't been very inspiring, but they had certainly been appropriate. And, in a show of either brotherly affection or slashy goodness (depending on your leanings) he leant down and kissed Boromir upon the brow.

Gimli and Legolas then came from amidst the trees, and saw the ranger straddling Boromir. They both coughed rather loudly.

**XXX**

"Frodo!" cried Sam. He was crashing blindly through the trees, and had conveniently missed all of the fighting and emotional death scenes. Damn him.

A few feet away Frodo was standing upon Parth Galen, silent, unmoving, looking at the Ring in his palm. Tears spilled down his face.

_I wish the Ring had never come to me_, he thought, _I wish none of this had happened._

"_Well tough_," came the words of Gandalf into his head, "_You've got two more films of this so get used to it. You hate your lot. So do all who live to see such times but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you_."

With a sudden determination, he put the Ring into his pocket, and got into one of the boats by the waterside.

"Frodo, no!"

He turned, and saw Sam wading towards him.  
**  
** "No, Sam," he growled, beginning to paddle away. But the stupid hobbit just kept coming, until he was completely submerged by the waters. For a moment there was silence, and then the river's surface was disturbed once more; he rose up again, dripping from head to toe, still staring impassively forwards. Frodo rubbed his eyes a few times, and decided that he had been watching _way_ too many movies lately. "Go back Sam! I'm going to Mordor alone."

"Of course you are," he cried. "And I'm coming with you!"

Frodo slapped himself on the forehead.

"You can't swim, you idiot!"

And he really couldn't, and promptly drowned. Once again. Frodo just rolled his eyes, and pulled the dead hobbit out of the water. He then punched him in the gut, and Sam spat up a bucketful of water, and a number of fish.

The sound of disappointed groans could be heard from the bushes. The fangirls had been waiting for the kiss of life.

Sam began to blubber: "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise! '_Don't you leave him Samwise Gamgee._' And I don't mean to! I don't mean to."

"Oh Sam!" gasped Frodo, and he proceeded to grab the fat, dripping hobbit and snog him senseless. Not really. They just had a very manly hug.

The fangirls in the bushes sighed in pleasure.

**XXX**

In the second elven boat they laid Boromir to rest with his weapons by his side; those of his defeated foes were at his feet. They even combed his hair across his shoulders. Aragorn drew the line at makeup, however, and had to swat away Legolas as he tried to apply blusher to the man's cheeks.

"But he looks so washed out!" the elf moaned.

"He's dead, you idiot."

And so, with a growing sense of despair (and in Legolas' case, regret at his pale complexion) they watched Boromir float towards the top of Rauros before disappearing over its peak. Amidst the roar of the Falls, Legolas could have sworn he heard an angry yell.

"Aragorn… are you sure Boromir was dead?"

The ranger, who was busy flicking through the wad of cash he had taken from the dead man's pockets, simply shrugged.

"Either way, he is now."

Legolas did not answer however - something had caught his attention, and he ran to the waterside and pushed out a boat.

"Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore!"

Aragorn was silent and angsty.

"You mean not to follow them?"

"Well duh. Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands."

Legolas frowned.

"Whose hands is it in?"

"Peter Jackson."

And they all shuddered.

"Then it has all been in vain!" said Gimli. "The Fellowship has failed."

"Not true," said Aragorn, typing something on a very handy laptop that he had suddenly found. "This film grossed $860,700,000 according to Wikipedia, and it spawned many a fangirl obsession driven fanfic. I'd say we did some good with this Fellowship thingy."

Legolas and Gimli glared at him.

"Can we go hunt some orc now?"

"Whatever."

And so they did.

**XXX**

A very much dried off Frodo and Sam now climbed their way to the top of the Emyn Muil, and looked out upon the distant peak of Mordor.

"Mordor," Frodo sighed. "I hope the others find a safer route."

"Strider will look after them," said Sam, with an optimistic smile.

"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again."

They turned to each other, burst into huge grins and shared a high five.

"Woohoo!"

And so, with lightened hearts and substantial fame and paychecks under their belts, they picked their way down the rocky slope towards Mordor.

"I wonder," said Frodo, "if Sauron has any pie…"


	17. Lembas, Lembas, Lembas

_Oops, another long delay :p In my defense, I'm been very busy, what with starting university and all. Plus, it took me a while to get past the drudgery of Sam and Frodo's journeying scenes and find any potential for humour in there, but I think I found some._

_It's been about a year since I started posting this – I certainly remember posting near Christmas last year – so yay! for anniversaries!_

**XXX**

_Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slay- I-I mean, Lord of the Rings…_

Somewhere deep inside the Mines of Moria, a confrontation was afoot.

The Balrog brandished his light saber.

"I'm-a bust a cap in yo ass!" he growled.

Gandalf raised a hand.

"Bring it on, _beeyotch_."

And so the Balrog charged forwards, and a mighty battle between the two ensued, which culminated in the dramatic revelation that the Balrog was, in fact, Gandalf's father.

"Wait a minute," said Frodo, with a frown. "This doesn't seem right somehow…"

He turned to Boromir, seeking confirmation of this point, and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Um, Boromir?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you have a mackerel for a head?"

The mackerel-headed Boromir shrugged.

"I dunno, it's your dream, Frodo."

The next moment, the thoroughly-confused hobbit woke up with a start.

He looked about, and found himself sleeping amongst the rocks of the Emyn Muil. Sam was kneeling beside him, looking very concerned.

"What is it, Mr. Frodo?"

The hobbit shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "Just a dream."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You were screaming Gandalf's name in your sleep again."

"It's not what it looks like, Sam," said Frodo. "I was dreaming about his death."

"Sure you were, Mr. Frodo," he said, hiking his pack over his shoulder. "Sure you were."

And the fat hobbit started off over the next rise of rocks.

Frodo looked about shiftily, and then darted behind another rock to go and change his pants.

**XXX**

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers 

_(contains 53 per cent new footage)_

With many a misstep, a grunt and a curse, Sam and Frodo picked their way among the rocks of the Emyn Muil, and climbed to the top of a particularly stubborn ridge. Conveniently enough, said ridge afforded the perfect view of the extremely distant Mount Doom.

"Hmm," grumbled Sam. "It looks nothing like the brochure." Heaving his pack off his shoulder, he sighed, and collapsed onto a nearby rock. "Let's face it, Mr. Frodo, we're lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way."  
**  
** "He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sam," said Frodo, sounding melodramatic again. "But they did."

He joined Sam on a nearby rock, and, looking towards Mordor with his apparently telescopic eyes, he caught the eye of the Eye of Sauron and had something which resembled an epileptic fit.

Sam was concerned: "Mr. Frodo? It's the Ring, isn't it?"  
**  
**He nodded.

"It's getting heavier."

As if to test a theory, Sam snatched away the Ring and weighed it in his palm with a frown.

"It feels exactly the same to me."

Frodo growled.

"I meant metaphorically, you twit." He stole the Ring back, and clutched it protectively to his chest. Then he reached into his pack and took a swig from his flask. "What food have we got left?"

Sam had a look through his own pack, and pulled out a number of leafy packages.

"Hmm, we might have to tighten our belts a little more, I'm afraid, Mr. Frodo. All we have left is Lembas, Lembas, bloody Lembas." He pulled back its leafy covering, and broke off a piece which he tossed to Frodo. "I hate this elven stuff," he added. "It tastes like bloody chalk."

"Definitely."

Sam frowned, and chewed thoughtfully.

"Why then, can I not stop eating the friggin' stuff?"

Frodo shrugged, and delved into Sam's pack for more, having already devoured his own piece.

"I don't know," he said, breathlessly. "I can't stand the stuff myself." He stuffed his mouth with even more. "But it's refreshingly addictive."

Sam had a look at the label.

"Hmm. The elves never bothered to mention this." He shoved the packaging in Frodo's face.

Frodo read aloud: "_Contains truckloads of nicotine. In fact, it is the only ingredient in these things really, apart from chalk. Truckloads of chalk. You equals idiot._"

Sam shook his head, and peered inside the packaging.

"Ingenious elven cooking, my eye. They're just old-fashioned appetite suppressants." A raindrop landed on his nose, and he looked up. "It's started raining, Mr. Frodo." A moment later, the rain started getting harder. "It's started raining harder, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo rolled his eyes, and unfurled an umbrella.

"Well, duh."

**XXX**

Despite the rain, they continued their morning jaunt through the rocks, and only stopped when they came across the same moose-shaped rock they had passed three times that day.

"Oh, bloody buggering hell!" Frodo collapsed onto a rock. "I can't be bothered with this. If I had wanted to wander around aimlessly, I'd have trailed Sam at a buffet."

"What?"

"Oh, sorry Sam," said Frodo. "Force of habit."

With a shrug, Sam decided to let it slip, and stood there for a moment, huddled beneath his cloak.

"What's that horrid stink?" he asked, presently. "I'll warrant there's a nasty bog nearby. Can you smell it?"

Frodo rolled his eyes.

"It's us, you idiot. We haven't had a shower in about three months."

"No, no." Sam shook his head. "It's something else."

They both looked about ominously; Frodo chewed on another piece of Lembas.

**XXX**

Later that day, well, that night to be precise, Frodo and Sam were spooning beneath a cliff. Above them, a dark shape was clawing its way down the rocks, hissing and spitting.

Sam opened an eye.

"Frodo?" he whispered.

"_What?_"

"How long do we have to keep pretending we are asleep?"

"_Just a few seconds longer!_"

He squirmed about. "But these rocks are digging into my back!"

"_Oh, for Jackson's sake!" _Frodo sat up. _"You are such a blanket hog!"_

Sam stuck out his tongue.

"Well, at least I don't snore like a Balrog."

"_It's a glandular problem and you know it_!"

"That's not what _she_ said…"

Frodo was flabbergasted.

"_Who the hell are you talking about_?"

Sam put a hand to his forehead.

"I'm not talking about a specific _she_, just using the general _she_ to imply that you are an inadequate sexual partner, and-"

"Ahem."

They both looked up.

"WHAT?"

Gollum was standing before them, looking sheepish. He waved a splayed hand.

"Um, hi."

**XXX**

After a rather lengthy conversation, Sam and Frodo decided that this Gollum character was actually quite evil, really, so they decided to keep him on a leash, just to be sure. He kept referring to himself in the third person anyways, so they figured that he must be some kind of schizophrenic, or else some kind of crazed narrator, muhahaha.

"It burns!" whined Gollum, yanking at his leash. "It burns us! It freezes! Nasty Elves twisted it. Take it off us!"

"How on Earth can it both burn _and_ freeze you?" asked Frodo.  
**  
** Sam put a hand to his forehead.

"It's hopeless!" he yelled. "Every Orc in Mordor's going to hear this racket!"

Frodo rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, and they're not going to hear you loudly complaining about it either."

Sam folded his arms.

"Maybe we should just kill the bleeding thing."

"Maybe he does deserve to die," said Frodo, with a frown. "But now that I see him, I do pity him."

There was silence for a moment. Gollum raised a hand.

"Um, yeah, we is standing right here you know."

Sam kicked at him.

"Be quiet whilst we discuss your murder."

Frodo rolled his eyes.

"Murder is your solution for everything, Sam."

"Well I don't see you coming up with any new ideas!"

Gollum tried to change the subject: "We be nice to them if they be nice to us." He gestured to his leash. "Take it off us. We swears to do what you wants. We swears."

Frodo shook his head.

"There's no promise you can make that I can trust."

"We swears to serve the master of the precious," said Gollum.

Sam thought about this for a second.

"So, technically, if Sauron or some random orc regained the Ring, you would betray us at the drop of a hat?"

Gollum nodded furiously.

Frodo slapped himself in the forehead.

"There's no promise you can make that I can trust, Gollum."

"Hmmph," said Gollum. "Well, we thanks you immensely for your faith in us. In that case, we swears on the precious."  
**  
** "The Ring is treacherous," answered Frodo. "It will hold you to your word, despite its being an inanimate object and so unable to do a damn thing about it." He frowned, and decided to fish around for a better threat. "If you betray me," he said, "it will turn your finger green!"

Gollum did not seem too bothered by this prospect, but Sam gave a gasp of horror at the thought.

Gollum shrugged.

"Fine then. We swears on the precious."

"I don't believe you!" yelled Sam. He yanked the leash, and sent Gollum crashing to the ground.

"Sam!" growled Frodo.

"He's trying to trick us!" said Sam. "If we let him go he'll throttle us in our sleep!"

Gollum's face fell.

"Again, we is standing right here."  
**  
** Frodo turned towards him.

"You know the way to Mordor?

Gollum looked about shiftily.

"Um, sure, why not?"

Frodo knelt down, and removed the leash from around Gollum's neck.

"You will lead us to the Black Gate."

Gollum folded his arms.

"Please."

Frodo rolled his eyes.

**XXX**

A few dozen miles away, Merry and Pippin were being carried across the plains of Rohan by a pack of rather burly Uruk-hai.

Pippin, unable to grasp the seriousness of their situation, was currently kicking his Uruk-hai in the back and yelling 'giddy up!' It was of no surprise to Merry, then, that his fellow hobbit was soon flung across the plains like a hairy-toed shot put.


	18. What's With All The Stalking?

_It's been a while since I updated, I'll admit. I blame the ridiculous amount of essays I've had to write lately, along with the piles and piles of paperwork I've had to get through, bah._

_Anyways, it is now onto Rohan, yay! Updates should hopefully be quicker from now on, since I have the next few chapters more or less ready :D_

**XXX**

Aragorn stirred, as the sound of distant rumbling met his ears.

"Their pace has quickened," he muttered. "They must have caught our scent."

After running non-stop for several days in pursuit of the Uruk-hai, the ranger was exhausted, and keeping up such an annoyingly tireless façade had not helped matters. When his legs were about to give out, then, he had volunteered to put his head to the ground and listen for their prey, with the ulterior motive of maybe catching a few winks whilst he did so. After three hours of snoring, he had an inkling his companions might be a little suspicious, so, grudgingly, he forced himself to wake up and clamber back to his feet.

"Hurry!" he yelled, running off into the distance. Legolas followed him, bow in hand.

"Come on, Gimli!" the elf called.

The dwarf leant on his axe and frowned.

"Why couldn't we have just gotten a bloody cab?"

"Shut up, Gimli."

So they ran. They ran and they ran and they ran. And when that wasn't enough, they were inclined to run some more. Never mind the fact that Aragorn had broken toes, Legolas had broken ribs, and Gimli had a dislocated knee. Never mind the fact that there was a helicopter following them everywhere they went. Never mind-

"Ooh," said Aragorn, seized by a sudden kleptomania, "shiny!" He knelt down, and picked up a green leaf-shaped brooch from amidst the grass. "Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," he said.

Legolas frowned.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Aragorn shrugged.

"Haven't the foggiest. Come on. Plainly this random brooch on the floor means they are less than a day ahead of us or something."

He sped off. Legolas followed him. Behind them, a rather heavy dwarf rather heavily rolled down a hill and fell with a heavy thud.

"Come, Gimli!" cried Legolas. "We are gaining on them, apparently!"

Gimli hurried after them, panting and sweating up a storm.

"I am wasted on cross-country!" he gasped. "We dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances!"

Rolling their eyes, they climbed to the rise of the hill, and looked down upon a sea of golden plains.

"Rohan," said Aragorn. "Home of the horse-lords, y'know. There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us."

"Yeah," panted Gimli, with his hands on his knees. "It's called Peter Jackson."

"Legolas," said Aragorn. "What do your Elf eyes see?"

"Elf eyes?" He snorted. "What other kind of eyes would I have?"

Aragorn smacked him upside the head.

"I'm trying to subtly reacquaint the casual viewer with your character you idiotic…" He flailed his arms about, in search of an insult. "…idiot!"

"Oh," said the elf. "Well then. Hi! I'm Legolas Greenleaf, Mirkwood elf and teen heart throb." He turned towards the camera, and winked. Half of the female population of the audience fainted in their seats, along with a few of the men.

"Legolas," seethed Aragorn, "your surname is not Greenleaf! Your name means 'greenleaf'. You just introduced yourself as Greenleaf Greenleaf!"

The elf was too busy painting his nails to care.

"Argh." The ranger turned to the camera next. "Hi there. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir of Gondor, Elessar, Elfstone, Longshanks, Wingfoot-"

"Aragorn!" grunted Gimli, "you haven't been given that name yet!"

Aragorn shoved him off the hill.

"I will be your sexy ranger/would-be-king for the evening." He winked at the camera. The other half of the female population of the audience fainted, along with a few of the men.

Gimli huffed and puffed his way back up the hill, and jumped in front of Aragorn crying: "I am Gimli, son of Gloin! I am the one and only dwarf, and I will be your comic relief for the evening! Hey, here's a joke for ya… How many dwarfs does it take to screw in a light bulb?... None! Y'know why? Cause light bulbs don't exist in Middle Earth!" He burst into raucous laughter at his own joke. The entire population of the audience was now comatose, whether from the hotness of his ranger and elven counterparts, or from the heart attack-inducing awfulness of his light bulb joke.

Aragorn and Legolas made a point to ignore him.

"So," said the ranger/would be king, "how about those Elf eyes Legolas?"

"Ooh right." The elf sprang forwards. "The Uruks are turning northeast." He squinted his eyes, and then added, in a randomly musical fashion: "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard-gard-gard-gard-gard! The hobbits-the hobbits-the hobbits-the hobbits… To Isengard! To Isengard!"

Aragorn and Gimli both stared at him like he'd grown another head.

Aragorn was about to answer, but then something struck him, and instead he fell silent, contemplating this rather disturbing thought.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

"Umm… isn't Isengard north_west_ of here?"

The elf scratched his noggin, and then pulled out a rather crumpled map from his pocket. It unfolded several times until it was as big as a picnic blanket. He spread it on the floor in front of him, and then scrutinized both it and the world it represented.

His eyes widened. He picked up the map, and turned it around 180°.

They all groaned.

**XXX**

Meanwhile, north_west_ of the plains of Rohan, Saruman was brooding in his chamber and speaking to Sauron via the Palantír.

"The world is changing," said Saruman. "Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of Isengard and Mordor? To stand against the might of Sauron and Saruman and the union of the-"

"Yes, alright," said Sauron, with a roll of his flaming eye. "You don't have to be so bloody dramatic about it."

"Well,_ sorry_. I'm just trying to make conversation, y'know."

Thoroughly affronted, Saruman decided to go downstairs and inspect the refurbishing.

**XXX**

Everywhere across the plains of Isengard, trees were being ripped down and fed to the huge industrial furnaces. In the caverns below, hundreds of orcs hammered molten iron into a varied array of weaponry. Saruman strolled amongst this activity, speaking with his head orc.

**"**The old world will burn in the fires of industry," he explained. "The forests will fall. A new order will rise. We will drive the machine of war with the sword and the spear and the iron fist of the Orc. We have only to remove those who oppose us."

"Yes, that's all very well," said the orc, ticking off something on his clipboard. "But have you spared a thought to your carbon emissions?"

The next moment, the orc had been thrown into a nearby furnace.

**XXX**

"So, yes," said Saruman, "I know you've all had a long journey…"

The wizard was standing amidst a huge gathering of Dunlendings, who were busy fidgeting with gears, turning over rocks, climbing in trees and generally making a mess of his beloved Isengard.

"As I was saying..." he continued, raising his voice to make himself heard. "I wanted to run something by you if I may-" Suddenly, there was a huge flash and a bang. Saruman was left with singed eyebrows and a rather agitated expression on his face. "Okay," he growled, "who has my staff?"

Silence descended. One rather guilty-looking Dunlending came forward and handed it over. Saruman wrenched it from his grip, and dusted down his robes with a scowl.

"As I was saying..." he continued. "I have gathered you all here to discuss the problem of Rohan. The horsemen took your land. They drove your people into the hills to scratch a living off rocks."  
**  
** "Murderers!" someone yelled.

"Take back the lands they stole from you!" urged Saruman. "Burn every village!"

Someone raised their hand.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just take the villages for ourselves?"

Saruman thought about it for a moment.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Ooh, and some of the women too – they are all blondes after all."

"Aww, but I prefer brunettes."

"Yes, but _gentlemen _prefer blondes."

"WOULD YOU ALL PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP?" yelled Saruman, flapping his arms about. "You took a blood pledge for me, and you will do as I say and not question my logic!"

"The blood pledge is in the extended version, though."

"I don't care about the extended version," gritted Saruman. "I die in the extended version. The extended version is not my friend. Would you all please just go and rape and pillage and burn Rohan, _kthanx_?"

The Dunlendings let out an almighty roar of approval. Once said roar had died down, however, silence descended upon the group.

Saruman gave a sigh, and thrust his arm out to the side.

"Rohan is that way." He watched the Dunlendings shuffle off, and put a hand to his forehead in dismay. "This is _really_ doing nothing for my image…"

**XXX**

After a little help from the wonders of Sat Nav, the Dunlendings finally located Rohan, and set to raping and pillaging and burning its peripheral villages, which nobody really gave a crap about anyways.

In the midst of one of these aforementioned villages, a woman named Morwen was attempting to round up her children.

"Éothain!" she called. "Éothain!" She couldn't find the boy anywhere. She turned to his sister, who was currently clinging to her leg. "Where in Eru has your brother gotten to?"

The little girl just shrugged.

"I have no clue. I don't even know why I'm in this movie."

"I don't know either, Freda," her mother fussed. "But we're getting more screen time than some of the other characters, so just enjoy it while it lasts." She finally located Éothain, and dumped him rather unceremoniously onto the back of their horse. She then lifted Freda up too.

"Listen to me," urged their mother. "You must ride to Edoras and raise the alarm. Do you understand me?"

Éothain looked terrified.

"But I don't even know how to ride a horse!"

Morwen wasn't listening though: "Off you go dear!" she cried, slapping the horse in the backside. It went rocketing off into the distance. "Make sure you're back in time for dinner!"

**XXX**

Across the plains, a group of horsemen were riding with haste towards Edoras, capital of Rohan. At their head rode Éomer, Third Marshall of the Mark, who was attempting to both ride a horse and balance his mortally wounded cousin upon its back. Needless to say, the constant jolting was probably ensuring him a speedier death.

In their wake, a young blonde named Éowyn ran up the steps towards the Golden Hall, the folds of her green dress billowing in the wind. Hurrying through its corridors, she burst into a darkened bedchamber, and was taken aback at the sight that met her within.**  
**  
"Théodred!" she gasped, as she ran to his side. The wounded man stirred a little, and turned his bloody face towards her. "Alas! for your fangirls! They never even had a chance."

Éomer nudged her in the side.

"Psst, take a look at his wound. It's so gross!"

Éowyn drew back the covers, and closed her eyes in despair as she saw the gaping hole in Théodred's torso. Éomer just stood there, poking at it.

**XXX**

Realising they had very little time to renegotiate Théodred's will, Éowyn and Éomer went to go and see their Uncle Théoden, who just happened to be King of all Rohan, and proprietor of said will. Perhaps he could also explain the ridiculous amount of accents in their names, but they didn't hold out much hope.

When they arrived in the throne room, however, it was to general indifference; Théoden barely looked up from his game of checkers.

"Your son is badly wounded, my lord," said Éowyn.

Her brother stepped forwards.

"He was ambushed by orcs. If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

"That is a lie!" Gríma Wormtongue emerged from the shadows. He was a pale man, with matted black hair, heavy-lidded eyes and no eyebrows. He'd never had much luck with razors.

Éomer frowned.

"How long have you been standing there?"

Wormtongue shrugged.

"About an hour." Off Éomer's look he added: "There's nothing to do in this bloody country anyways…"

Éomer shrugged.

"I suppose."

"But yes, anyways. Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally, y'know."

Théoden mumbled something incomprehensible; they both just ignored him.

"Orcs are roaming freely across our lands," said Éomer. "Unchecked. Unchallenged. Killing at will. Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman."

He dropped a helmet onto the floor which toppled over, revealing a white hand upon its surface, surprisingly enough.

Wormtongue looked at this, cautiously.

"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?" He drew closer to Théoden, and looked back at Éomer with a snarl. "Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your war-mongering."

"Huh?"

"You bitch a lot."

"Oh." Éomer pouted, and slammed Wormtongue into a pillar. None too gently really. He knocked the guy out, and had to splash a nearby goblet of wine over his face to wake him up again. "As I was saying..." he continued, as Wormtongue spluttered in distress. "Saruman is evil, you're evil. It's a whole big evil thing really. How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?"

And just at that moment Éowyn began to walk away, since this whole tense conversation about the future of her kingdom was getting rather boring really. Wormtongue's eyes flicked towards her, and he put on his most charming smile, which on his face frankly looked like someone had just macheted him in the back.

"Perv," she muttered, storming off with her head held high.

"Hey, hey!" Éomer grabbed Wormtongue by the chin, and forced him to turn and look into his eyes. "Do you mind not ogling my sister? I'm trying to make a dramatic point here. It's extremely rude."

Wormtongue noticed something behind Éomer and smiled.

"Ah," he said, smirking, "my goons are here."

And Wormtongue's newly acquired goons clapped their hands on Éomer's shoulders and pulled him away. He began to struggle like a (rather sexy) wildcat.

"Goons?" he cried, between the punches. "Since when do you get goons?"

Wormtongue smiled.

"Since I wrote you out of this movie."

"What?"

"That's right! The scriptwriters decided to minimize your part in this movie, all because of me! And they gave me a bunch of spiffy new goons as a present too." He grinned. "Aren't unfaithful book adaptations fun?"

Éomer growled, and struggled some more.

"You can't write me out, dammit! I fight valiantly at Helm's Deep!"

Wormtongue leant in close, and whispered: "Not anymore!"

And then he turned away, and signaled to his goons, saying: "You see much Éomer, son of Éomund. Too much. You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan. Under pain of death!" He waved a hand. "Throw him away with the rest of the discarded characters!"

And as he was dragged away, Éomer's agonized screams resounded throughout the hall.

"Not Bombadil!" he cried. "Anything but Bombadil!"


	19. The Art of Dropping Gum

_I'm sorry for a lack of updates lately. I swear I had about ten essays due in all at once, and hobbit scenes are really the hardest things to parody in the world. And my impending exams probably didn't help either, gah._

_My writing tutor recently pointed out to me that I am inconsistent when it comes to using punctuation in my dialogue, so I apologise if I have been using it incorrectly throughout this fic. I was really embarrassed when I realised, and I might go back and proofread when I am feeling less lazy xD _

**XX****X**

As a fitting score swelled from somewhere in the distance, the Three Hunters continued their pursuit of the Uruk-hai. Aragorn was currently in the lead, with Legolas closing in like some kind of freaky elven Richard Simmons. Gimli was puffing and panting at the rear.

"This isn't fair!" moaned Gimli. "No matter what the camera angle I'm always lagging miles behind you two!"

Legolas just ignored him.

"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them."

"Eww," said Aragorn, shuddering as he ran. "That just threw up a very disturbing image."

"Even so," panted Gimli, "I expect to see a fanfic about it within a couple of days."

They continued on for a moment, until Aragorn slid to a sudden halt. Legolas almost crashed into him.

"Why are you stopping, Aragorn?" cried the elf.

"Hmm. I just realised how pointless this scene is."

Gimli's face fell.

"Then why on Middle Earth did you drag us out of bed at the crack of dawn to film it?"

Aragorn stuck out his tongue.

"Just because _you _didn't catch any fish."

**XX****X**

Time must have skipped an entire day, since night was descending upon the plains as the Uruk-hai stopped to rest beneath the boughs of Fangorn Forest. Everyone was beginning to get rather antsy, and not just because of the continuity errors.

"We're not going no further," complained one orc, "'til we've had a breather!"

"Oh, come on!" yelled one of the Uruk-hai. "Could you at least _try_ and speak like a Tolkien creation?"

The orc marched forwards.

"Dost thou haveth a problem with me?"

"Ugh, never mind."

Once their feuding guards were out of earshot, Pippin crawled towards his fellow hobbit. Merry opened his eyes a little blearily; blood was seeping through the rag bound across his forehead.

"Is it just me," said Pippin, "or has everything turned blue again?"

Merry shook his head.

"I think..." he managed, "we might have made a mistake leaving the Shire, Pippin."

"Well, duh."

All around them, overweight orcs were hacking at the trees for firewood. Suddenly, a creaking sound rose up. Pippin turned to Merry in horror.

"What's making that noise?"

Merry pushed himself up onto his elbows, and looked about.

"It's the trees," he said.

"What?"

He lowered his voice: "Do you remember the Old Forest? On the borders of Buckland?"

"No," said Pippin, "and we're not supposed to talk about it anyways." He cast his eyes about shiftily, just in case Wormtongue's goons came to drag them off too.

"Yeah, well, folk used to say that there was something in the water that made the trees grow tall. And come _alive_."

"Alive?"

"Yes, alive. Idiot." He rolled his eyes. "These were trees that could whisper, talk to each other. Even _move_."

Pippin's eyes widened.

"Could they Riverdance?"

Around them, the Uruk-hai were having an increasingly heated discussion.

"I'm starving!" complained an orc named Maúhur. "We ain't had nothin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!"

"Yeah!" agreed his companion. "Why can't we have some meat?" He cast around for a moment, and his eyes fell upon the hobbits. He grinned. "What about them? They're fresh." He emphasized this last word with a substantial amount of saliva.

Pippin wiped at his face. Merry just shook his head in protest.

"Not really," he said. "Have you seen these fingernails?" He gestured with his hands.

The Uruk-hai just ignored them.

"They are not for eating!" yelled Uglúk, the captain of the group.

"What about their legs?" asked Grishnákh, taking a step forwards. "They don't need those." The hobbits looked down at their legs worriedly. "Ooh… they look tasty!"

Uglúk shoved the orc back.

"Get your eyes off my halflings you twisted son-of-a-bitch!"

The two soon descended into a childish shoving contest, interspersed with increasingly offensive 'yo mama' jokes. The hobbits took the opportunity to crawl away, as intestines and blood began flying in all directions.

They had gotten barely a dozen yards when a foot came down upon their backs. It was unsurprising, really, when they realised they had been crawling _towards _the camp. Grishnákh loomed before them with a knife, and waved it just inches from Pippin's face.

"Go on, call for help," he hissed. "Squeal! No one's gonna save you now!"

Suddenly, a spear exploded through Grishnákh's back. He toppled over, dead. Rather conveniently, the spear had stopped just short of impaling Pippin as well. The next moment chaos broke out around them, as the riders of Rohan stampeded through the camp, crushing and stabbing many an orc in their path.

Pippin lay there for a moment, blinking stupidly, as he registered what had just happened.

Merry crawled over to him, and smiled a little: "Poetic justice."

Pippin frowned.

"How d'ya mean?"

"Well," said Merry, thinking for a moment, "he said that no one could save us now… And then he got impaled by a spear." His face fell. "Hmm, maybe that's just regular justice."

Pippin glanced around.

"We better go."

"Whatever happened to the whole elaborate siege thingy?"

"Beats me."

And so they began to crawl, rather pathetically, through the mass of trampling horses, cursing orcs and writhing tree limbs, hoping that their implausibly effective cloaks would continue to shield them from unfriendly eyes.

Unfortunately, horses do not care whether you are wearing a cloak or not, as Pippin soon discovered. He let out a rather girlish scream as a pair of hooves descended upon his face.

**XX****X**

Meanwhile, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli kept running throughout the night. As dawn approached, the land beneath their feet was painted red.

Legolas paused and looked up, suddenly pensive.

"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night."

The other two just stopped and glared at him.

"What?"

"Shut the hell up."

Legolas sighed.

"Somebody's not a morning person."

And then there was a rumbling sound. At first Gimli assumed it was just his stomach, but then Aragorn saw about a hundred armed men on horses coming towards them, and figured that was very probably the origin of the noise. The three ran and hid behind some conveniently placed rocks.

"Phew," said Legolas, "that was lucky."

Gimli nodded.

"Especially since we were standing two feet in front of them and they didn't even see us."

Aragorn smacked him.

"Shut up, our elven cloaks disguised us."

"Oh yes," said Gimli, "dark green blends so well into bright yellow grassland."

Whilst they were arguing over the finer plot details, the huge host of riders had all but passed them. So it escaped Legolas and Gimli why Aragorn suddenly leapt up and called: "Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

The riders checked their steeds and wheeled about, crying with loud voices and galloping straight at them.

Gimli's face dropped.

"You might as well have said 'Come over here and trample us to death _kthanxbye!_'"

The horsemen formed a ring about them, and advanced with their spears, threatening to turn the three into human kebabs. One rider came forwards and glared upon them. He had disheveled blonde hair, and a rather silly plumed helmet that kept falling in his eyes. He brushed it away and scowled.

"What business does an Elf, a man and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

Gimli shrugged.

"No business. We're just loitering." He stuck his hands into his pockets and stood there, whistling inanely.

The rider's eyes flashed with anger. He dismounted from his horse.

"This is the kingdom of Rohan. I am Éomer, Third Marshall of the Mark. There will be no loitering in my lands!"

The dwarf didn't answer, but stepped right up to him. Then he turned slightly and signaled to Aragorn, who lifted the vertically-challenged creature and held him up to eye level.

"I am Gimli, son of Glóin. I will do as I please." To prove his point, he took out the gum he was chewing, folded it into the wrapper, and carelessly threw it onto the ground.

Éomer lunged for him. Legolas went for his bow. Suddenly a thicket of spears was aimed at the group.

Aragorn stepped between everyone.

"Calm down!"

"No," whined Éomer, who was in the midst of having a hissy fit, "he dropped gum on my land!"

The ranger rolled his eyes.

"Right, I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin – as you know - and Legolas of the Woodland realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king. Just accuse us of being spies, tell us you killed our friends and be off for the next two thirds of the movie! We've got a plot to drive forward here!"

Éomer scowled.

"Fine then. I'm only bitter cause they wrote me out of Helm's Deep you know. I mean, what kind of plot device is a banishment? I could just go round up tons of men and attack Rohan and claim it back for the King. I mean, if I loved my country so much the threat of death wouldn't scare me right? And what about poor Erkenbrand? He was crying his eyes out when he didn't get a callback for the movie. He and Bombadil are considering taking roles in Harry Potter just to piss everyone off, I mean-"

"THE PLOT, ÉOMER, THE PLOT!"

"Ooh yes, sorry." He cleared his throat. "Yes, um, I accuse you of being spies of Saruman!" He wagged a finger at them. "Also, the King's mind is poisoned, and we've seen a wizard walking around in the forest or something." He whistled. Two steeds came trotting up. "And we brutally slaughtered your friends. Here's some horses."

He gave the reins to Aragorn, and then climbed onto his own steed and rode off. The other riders quickly followed.

Gimli frowned.

"He has good people skills doesn't he?"

**XX****X**

It didn't take them long to find the site of the battle - huge smoking mounds of dead orcs tend to be quite conspicuous in any terrain. Once they had rode up and dismounted, Gimli busied himself sifting through the pile of burnt corpses for any sign of the hobbits. He spotted something, and pulled it out with a look of horror.

"It's one of their wee belts," he murmured in horror.

Aragorn frowned.

"Since when do dwarves speak Scottish?"

Gimli just shrugged.

Legolas stood, meanwhile, with his eyes downcast and his face twisted in some outlandish way. They both looked at him worriedly.

"What's wrong?" asked Aragorn.

"I'm grieving," said Legolas, in a confused manner.

Gimli's eyebrows shot up.

"_That's_ grieving? It looks like you swallowed a bug."

Legolas had a hissy fit.

"I am grieving dammit! I am an elf who does not understand death and I am completely blown away by the very idea of it! Arghhhhh!"

Aragorn frowned.

"Are you sure you're not just a lousy actor?"

The elf glared at him.

"Just kick the helmet in a sexy way already."

"Fine."

He ran back some ways, and then punted the helmet for all he was worth. It went sailing over the boughs of Fangorn. He let out a scream of rage as he did so, and fell to his knees in an overly-dramatic way.

"Wow, Aragorn," said Legolas, raising his eyebrows, "you must be really torn up about this."

"Not really," gritted the ranger, his eyes staring forwards in pain. "I think I just broke my toe."

Gimli walked over, and leant upon his axe as Aragorn began hopping around, yelping in pain.

"That's called showing emotion," Gimli said, nudging Legolas in the side. "You should try it sometime."

The elf burst into tears. They both just decided to ignore him, especially when Aragorn caught a glimpse of some tracks upon the ground.

"A hobbit lay here," he said. "And the other. They crawled." He started following the trail, with Legolas and Gimli at his heels, wondering what on Middle Earth he was seeing. It just looked like a bunch of grass to them.

Stooping, the ranger picked up a piece of rope, hidden in the grass. "Fangirls were here." He glanced at Legolas. "Stay close. They could be lurking nearby. Gimli, I don't think you need worry." The dwarf folded his arms and grunted.

Aragorn wandered off.

"They ran over here," he said. "They were followed." He was practically sprinting now. "The tracks lead away from the battle..." They all stopped, and looked up. Dread came over them. "…into Fangorn Forest."

The aforementioned forest loomed above them, big and dark and… foresty.

"What madness drove them in there?" asked Gimli, straining to peer over their shoulders.

Aragorn shrugged.

"Longbottom leaf?"


	20. The Not So Perky Marshes

_Yay! I updated xD As you can probably guess, I've finished all my exams so fanfic is starting to take priority again. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soonish as well, since I have most of it written._

_Thanks again for all your reviews and favourites, guys. It really does make me smile to know that people are enjoying my randomness :)_

**XX****X**

And thanks to the magic of cinema, time had suddenly reverted to the previous evening's events, in which two young hobbits fled blindly into the tangled mess that was Fangorn Forest, pursued by the slightly ticked off orc known as Grishnákh, who, despite a major stab wound, was stumbling along quite favourably.

"Come on!" he was crying, rather pathetically, "I just wanna talk!"

Merry and Pippin were having none of it though, and continued to run whilst dodging the approaching trees and bushes with many a curse and a grunt. Suddenly they had run out into a slight clearing. Grishnákh was gone.

"Did we lose him?" asked Pippin. He looked about. "I think we lost him."

There was a snarl as Grishnákh jumped out at them from the shadows. Merry rolled his eyes.

"Elven cloaks, my ass!"

They both ran away and climbed up some nearby trees, since climbing a tree makes one much less conspicuous. For a moment there was silence.

"He's gone," said Merry, with a sigh.

But Merry had forgotten one of the golden rules of cinema: never, ever sigh in relief. It will result in said sigher being cruelly jumped upon by their attacker. And that is exactly what happened. Merry was suddenly flung to the ground by Grishnákh, who loomed over him with his jagged sword.

Merry squealed. Then a shadow fell upon them both.

The hobbit jumped back in horror, as a tree stump fell from above and crushed the orc into something resembling a giant pizza. On further evaluation, however, once Merry had been lifted up by a large gnarled hand and looked up into a set of eyes embedded within the trunk, he guessed that it was instead a living, breathing tree, which was none too happy to see him.

"Little Orcs! Burárum..." The tree then looked down, and lifted up one of its feet. "Eww. What did I just step in?"

Rather conveniently, Pippin had been picked up by the tree's other hand.

"It's talking, Merry. The tree is talking!"

"Well duh."

The tree shook its head (or, y'know, whatever constitutes as a head on a giant tree).

"I'm not a tree!" it said. "I am an Ent."

Pippin's face remained blank.  
**  
** "A treeherder," explained Merry. "A shepherd of the forest."

Pippin just frowned.

"How on Middle Earth can you herd trees? They don't even move."

No one had a chance to provide a sufficient answer, however, since a helmet came hurtling through the trees above their heads at that very moment. They all gave it a rather confused look.

"So yes," said the Ent, breaking the silence, "Treebeard, some call me."

"Oh," said Pippin, "and how did you get that name then?"

Merry just rolled his eyes.

"You know," he said, "your voice sounds awfully familiar…"

Treebeard cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, this way I get two paychecks…"

"And whose side are you on?"

"Side? I am on nobody's side because nobody is on my side, little orc. Nobody cares for the woods anymore."

"Well, you never call, you never write…"

Merry raised a hand.

"Um, yeah. We're not orcs, we're hobbits. Duh."

Treebeard pulled out his copy of the _Encyclopaedia__ Middle Earth…ica_, and spent a few minutes looking up the word 'hobbits'.

"Hmm. According to this, you are 'a Japanese manga and anime series about a student and his blonde android…'"

Merry's face fell.

"That's _Chobits_."

"Oh." Treebeard put the book away. "I figured you were orcs or something, y'know." His eyes narrowed. "You're not orcs, are you? 'Cause that would be a bit of a problem." His grip upon them tightened. "Me no likey orcs."

"No, no," Merry protested, as he struggled for air. "You don't understand. We're hobbits! Halflings! Shirefolk!"

They had reached a clearing. Treebeard stopped crushing them for a moment, and pondered over these words.

"Maybe you are and maybe you aren't. The White Wizard will know."

"The White Wizard?" said Pippin.

Merry's face filled with horror.

"Saruman."

The next moment, Treebeard tossed them both to the ground. They looked up at the figure towering above them, complete with long white hair and cloak.

"Ooh," said Pippin, grinning in relief, "hi Gandalf!" And he waved inanely. "Aren't you supposed to be dead or something?"

The wizard slapped himself in the forehead.

"Look, why do you think we chose this camera angle? Why do you think Treebeard didn't just call me Gandalf? Why do you think this scene was meant to cut away without any dialogue?" Silence. "BECAUSE THE AUDIENCE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO KNOW IT WAS ME DAMMIT!" Gandalf jumped up and down, waving his arms about like a loon.

Pippin frowned.

"Well, how was I supposed to know? And if the scene was meant to cut away in silence, why is it still going on? I mean, the film makers must be pretty dumb to keep this exchange in and completely ruin the suspense. Don't get me wrong, but you think they'd have cut away by-"

**XX****X**

_Meanwhile…_

"So I says to Mabel, I says…"

Frodo just rolled his eyes, and continued to ignore Sam's inane chatter. Close on Gollum's heels, the two hobbits were clambering up a rise of rocks towards the summit of the Emyn Muil. Mordor was clearly visible in the distance.

Sam stopped for a moment, and shielded his eyes against the glare.

"I hope they have a buffet – I'm starving."

**XX****X**

The light was beginning to fade a few hours later, as the hobbits followed Gollum through increasingly difficult terrain. The rocks of the Emyn Muil had long given way to a landscape of grass and mud.

The next moment, Sam's foot slipped into a pool of mud. He withdrew it with horror.

"It's a bog!" Sam cried. "He's led us into a swamp!"

Frodo rolled his eyes.

"Yes, genius, that's what I've been saying for the last twenty minutes."

Gollum nodded voraciously. **  
**  
"A swamp, yes, yes. Come, master. We will take you on safe paths through the mist." He wandered on ahead.

"What mist?" asked Sam. "And how hard is it to navigate a swamp anyways? Just don't step on the watery bits, I reckon."

Gollum stopped in his tracks.

"Look," he hissed, turning around and glaring at the hobbit, "I don't constantly question your right to be in this movie, so kindly please shut the hell up, okay?"

Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Y'know, these marshes are the perfect place to dump a dead body…"

Frodo came between them.

"Woah, guys, just chill out. Nobody is saying that Gollum is useless." Gollum seethed. "And no one is saying that Sam is stupid, fat, ugly and annoying." Sam's face fell. "Now, no one really wants to murder anyone, do they?" The two glared at him. "Er, never mind."

The marshes were immense, stretching for miles in all directions, with the peak of Mordor nothing but a distant flare upon the horizon. Flames were flickering amongst the reeds. As they continued on, the hobbits also noticed corpses floating in the water, dressed in all manner of armour. Sam's eyes widened at the sight.

"I see dead people."

Frodo had a look for himself.

"Oh, Sam, stop being so superstitious." He picked up a nearby stick, and poked at one of the corpses.

"All dead," said Gollum, "All rotten. Elves and men and orcses. A great battle long ago…"

The hobbits studied the corpses in fascination. Sam knelt down near a patch of reeds.

"Look," he said, "there's a piece of Gil-Galad over here."

Gollum turned to face the hobbits: "The Dead Marshes. Yes, yes that is their name."

"Hmmm," said Frodo. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Eventually they continued on, picking their way carefully through the waters. Nevertheless, Sam's foot slipped into a pool of mud, again.**  
**  
"Gah."

"Careful now," lectured Gollum, "or hobbits go down to join the dead ones and light little candles of their own."

Frodo, who had wandered off from the main tour group, came to a stop by the edge of a particularly murky pool containing an elven warrior. After a rather fruitless staring contest, the hobbit was about to admit defeat when the corpse's eyes flew open, much to nobody's surprise.

Mesmerised, Frodo slammed face-first into the water.

"Um, ow." He promptly sat up, and rubbed at his aching nose. Sam waded over to him.

"Shallow?" he asked.

"_Very_ shallow."

**XX****X**

Later that night, Mordor was having a fireworks display in the distance. Sam was fast asleep throughout this commotion, but Frodo was lying awake with his back to the hobbit – there had been a minor disagreement regarding who would be the big spoon and who would be the little spoon tonight.

In a state of suppressed longing, Frodo cradled the Ring in the palm of his hand, whispering silent nothings whilst stroking its band. There was a rustling noise. He looked up and saw Gollum sitting nearby, stroking the palm of his hand. The hobbit's eyes widened.

"How long have you been sat there listening?"

Gollum smiled.

"Long enough."

Frodo pushed himself up onto his elbows, and stuffed the Ring back inside his shirt. "How much do you want?" He reached into his pocket and flicked through a wad of notes. "Will a hundred cover it?"

Gollum nodded eagerly as he took the money, and slipped it inside his loincloth.

"I am going to buy so much fish!"

Frodo settled down, and studied Gollum intently.

"So, who are you anyways?"

"Mustn't ask us," rambled Gollum, "not its business." He coughed a few times, just for good measure.

Frodo ignored him: "Gandalf told me you were one of the river folk."

"Cold be heart and hand and bone. Cold be travelers far from home."

"Okaaay, random book quote." Frodo got up, and came to sit in front of Gollum. "Gandalf said your life was a sad story."

"Huh, well, that's nice of him."

Frodo was undeterred, however.

"You were not so very different from a hobbit once, were you... Sméagol?"

Gollum looked up with a mixture of awe and fear.

"What did you call me?"

"That was your name once, wasn't it? A long time ago…"

"My name?" Gollum faltered for a moment. "My name... S... Sméagol…"

He had no time to process this startling revelation of his own name, however, since there was a deafening shriek from above at that very moment.

Sam bolted upright in bed.

"I'm awake!"

There was another shriek. Suddenly, Frodo collapsed uselessly to the ground, gripping at the wound in his chest. Sam just rolled his eyes. A Ringwraith swooped down over the marshes, seated upon a snarling Fell Beast. Gollum began to panic.

"Quick!" he cried. "They will see us! They will see us!"

The hobbits made no effort to move.

"How could they possibly see us?" asked a breathless Frodo. "They don't even have eyes."

"Yeah," said Sam, "and what about these elven cloaks anyways? I thought they were meant to hide us from our enemies."

Gollum's face fell.

"Just hide under the damned bush, mkay?"

Rolling their eyes, the two hobbits grudgingly crawled beneath the nearby bramble bush. Sam tapped Gollum on the shoulder.

"So yeah, didn't we already kill these Nazgûl in the last movie or something?" **  
**  
Gollum turned around.

"Dead? No, you cannot kill them."

"So they're like Dracula then?"

Frodo shook his head: "They sound more like the Terminator to me."

"Then again, Jason has a rather nasty habit of never dying-"

"LOOK, DOES IT REALLY MATTER?" There was another screech from above, and they caught sight of the Nazgûl above them. "Wraiths!" cried Gollum. "Wraiths on wings! They are calling for it. They are calling for the precious!"

"Flying wraiths?" Sam turned to Frodo. "Is it just me, or were they scarier on horses?"

Frodo just scratched his head.

"How on earth can you search for the Ring from that height up? It was frustrating enough when I left it in my other pair of pants and it got lumped in with all of Rivendell's laundry…"

"Yeah," said Sam, "and it didn't help that Elrond walked in when you were standing there, holding up a pair of Arwen's underpants…"

"Guys?" Gollum was busy massaging his temples. "Could we please concentrate on the dire peril at hand, just for once?"

Frodo dug into his pocket, and brought out the Ring.

"Hmm. I have a random urge to put this on."

Sam looked concerned.

"Are you gonna?"

"No, it's cool." Frodo put the Ring away.

Above them, the Nazgûl took one last sweep of the Marshes before heading back to Mordor.

Sam frowned.

"Is it just me, or was this scene extremely anticlimactic?"

Frodo just shrugged. Gollum was continuing on towards the edge of the Marshes.

"Hurry, hobbits. The Black Gate is _very_ close."

With many a protesting groan, the hobbits climbed back to their feet and trudged along behind him.

"But that's what you said an hour ago…"


	21. Gandalf Has Returnethethed!

_Hey, I managed to squeeze a Scrubs, Red Dwarf and (very subtle) Futurama reference all into this one update - I think that's quite an achievement xD I knew I could get them in there somewhere…_

_Most of this update was written on the train to London. Four hours there and four hours back was just hell, but writing this helped me to stay sane. Reviews are very much appreciated and squeed at :D_

**XX****X**

A few hundred miles away, the three Hunters were wandering through Fangorn Forest. They were most definitely _not _having a good time.

"Okay," asked Gimli, who was currently massaging his temples, "whose idea was it to stumble blindly through the huge freaking forest?"

Aragorn wandered by at that moment, whistling innocently with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Legolas tapped Gimli on the shoulder.

"So, who was it then?"

The dwarf just shook his head in disbelief and continued on.

They soon reached a huge clearing, filled with gnarled trees and hanging vines. The early morning light was filtering through a gap in the forest canopy above. Aragorn ran some ways and then stooped down to study the undergrowth.

"These are strange tracks," he muttered.

Gimli shuddered.

"The air is so close in here."

"This forest is old," said Legolas, looking about warily. "Very old. Very very old. Very very very-"

"Yes, Legolas," put in the ranger, rolling his eyes, "we get the picture."

The elf pouted. That had been one of his better lines.

Suddenly there was the sound of rustling and whispering about them. They all looked about anxiously.

"The trees are speaking to each other," said Legolas. He turned to Gimli. "They don't like you."

The dwarf gave a loud 'harrumph'.

Legolas turned to Aragorn and muttered: "_Aragorn, nad nâ ennas!_ Something is out there!"

The ranger frowned.

"Legolas, have you ever noticed that you are an elf, and I am a human raised by elves, and yet I speak elvish more frequently and fluently than you?"

Legolas' face fell.

"Just shut up and say your line."

"Fine then. _Man cenich?_ What do you see?"

There was a neat close-up on Legolas' eyes. A loud thud signaled the approval of many a fangirl.

"The White Wizard approaches," murmured the elf.

"Do not let him speak," answered the ranger. "He will put a spell on us."

Gimli frowned: "And what is your basis for that assumption? The films haven't even acknowledged the enchanting properties of Saruman's voice yet."

"I know," said Aragorn, folding his arms in a huff, "I just thought it made me sound cool."

They all fell silent. Aragorn nodded at Legolas. Legolas nodded at Aragorn. Gimli nodded at Aragorn. Legolas nodded at Gimli. Aragorn nodded at Gimli. They all nodded at the White Wizard.

"Oh shit," they said. Then they rather pathetically drew their weapons with many a war cry; Gimli threw his axe. It ended up sailing backwards into the tree behind him.

"The trees _really _don't like you," said Legolas, whose arrow burnt to a crisp as it left the bow.

For some reason Aragorn just stood there, holding his sword menacingly. How that was supposed to hurt and intimidate the White Wizard, nobody knew. The blade promptly turned rather hot in his hands, and he dropped it to the ground with a girlish squeal.

A blinding light appeared before them, shrouding a towering figure dressed in white robes.

"Oh dear," said the figure, "that light is awfully bright, isn't it? I can barely see my own cataracts."

With a wave of his arm the man dimmed the light about him. They all groaned as they recognized a familiar old man with a long beard and galloping senility.

"It is I Gandalf!" he cried. "I have returneth…eth…ed!"

Legolas waved.

"Hi."

Aragorn frowned.

"I thought you were dead or something?"

The wizard shrugged.

"Me too. But apparently my improperly explained resurrection is pretty integral to the plot..." He looked down. "At least I get spiffy new robes! Although the dry cleaning bill for these things is gonna be a bitch…"

Gimli growled.

"Saruman!" he spat. "Do not try and fool us! You look nothing like Gandalf!"

He pulled out another axe and ran, screaming, at Gandalf. The wizard stopped him with a hand to his forehead. Gimli continued to run on the spot, spouting endless insults.

"Err Gimli," said Aragorn, "that _is _Gandalf."

"Nonsense," answered the dwarf. "He's _way _too ugly. And his nose is too small. Also, Gandalf never had this waistline." He grabbed at the wizard's flabby stomach.

Aragorn slapped himself in the forehead.

The next moment, a dwarf-shaped missile went flying through the trees.

"So," said Legolas, completely unfazed, "how come you're not like, well, dead?"

"How observant," muttered Aragorn.

"Well," said the wizard, sitting down on the rise and scratching himself on the head, "it's the darnedest thing really. I could've sworn I'd fallen down a rather deep cavern, and then I was joy-riding a Balrog for a while before plunging into someone's swimming pool. But, of course, the whole concept is quite absurd since when one falls down a rather deep cavern one tends to die when one splats on the bottom. Anyhoo, we ended up on this mountain somehow and then there was this rather spiffing fight and I guess I won but tragically died."

"How tragic!"

"Yes, indeed. After that, I was suddenly gratuitously naked and I heard all of these fangirls screaming. Then I guess I found some clothes and came here, or something."

Aragorn nodded.

"That sounds completely plausible to me."

"Excellent," said Gandalf, rubbing his hands in glee, "then enough with the plot exposition already. I wanna go and get a taco…"

**XX****X**

A few minutes later the group emerged safely from the forest. As they approached their horses Gimli suddenly popped up, pulling random twigs out of his hair.

"Saruman!" he cried, coming at the wizard again.

They all sweatdropped.

"One stage of your journey is over," said Gandalf, ignoring the dwarf. "Another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed."

Legolas' face was blank.

"Eda-who?"

Gandalf just rubbed his hands together again.

"Yes, Legolas, we're going to Edoras…" He looked about shiftily. "Whatever that is…"

He stepped forwards for a moment, and then put his lips together and blew. After an embarrassingly long wait, the wizard whistled again. Eventually, the group heard a distant neighing, and a gleaming white house came bounding towards them in the tackiest-looking sequence imaginable. It promptly bowled over Gimli, before coming to a standstill before Gandalf, who gave it a cheery wink.

"STOP WINKING AT EVERYONE!" screamed Aragorn. "Seriously, it's getting really disturbing now."

"That is one of the Mearas," said Legolas, "unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

"Well duh," said Gimli, who was currently kneeling on the ground and holding his stomach, "even a blind Oliphaunt could've noticed that."

Legolas frowned.

"Oliphaunt? What's an Oliphaunt?"

The next moment, an elf-shaped missile went flying through the trees.

**XX****X**

"…and that's how they made me their chief…"

Treebeard was rambling on, as always, and had sent Merry and Pippin into yet another comatose state as he carried them through the depths of Fangorn Forest. As he rounded off his latest tale of grandiose, Merry opened his eyes and gave a loud yawn. Treebeard just started on the next one.

Merry scowled.

"Um, yawn?"

Treebeard stopped for a moment.

"Excuse me?"

Merry sighed: "You see, I say 'yawn' because when I actually yawn, you don't get it."

Treebeard blinked.

"Oh right… So anyways, I was standing there with this giant twelve-inch kielbasa…"

Merry rolled his eyes.

"Pippin?"

"Hmm?" The other hobbit was still in a light doze.

"Why are the filmmakers actually acknowledging that Treebeard is, well, y'know, _boring_?"

Pippin shrugged, and turned over to try and get more comfortable.

"I dunno. They're just staying true to the book I guess…"

Merry raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure that's the reason, It's not like Jackson has ever strayed from the plot of the original book or anything…" He suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, which sounded suspiciously like 'noGlorfindel, Arwenhasasword, Aragornisallangsty, Gimli'sspeakingScottish, Legolasisanidiot, wehobbitsareallwearingcutoffs-'"

"Yes, alright." Pippin turned over again, and wiped at his sleepy eyes. "Treebeard, can you explain why the filmmakers are actually acknowledging how boring you are and emphasizing how long it takes you to say a single sentence, no matter how protracted or confusing it has become and why we hobbits are made to suffer as a result of your annoyingly superfluous…" He frowned. "Bugger, I just lost my train of thought." The hobbit didn't get a reply, however. He snapped his fingers in the Ent's face. "Yo, Treebeard? He who hangs out a lot in arboretums?"

Treebeard was not listening however.

"'Clearly', I said to the tribe, 'you have never been to Singapore…'"

Pippin's face fell.

"Merry, I have a feeling this is going to be a _very _long film for us…"

**XX****X**

"So yeah." Gollum gestured across his shoulder. "Them's there's the Black Gate of Mordor, folks."

Sure enough a huge gate loomed before them, cut into the rocks of the Morannon. A number of guards patrolled its perimeter.

Frodo tilted his head slightly.

"It doesn't look that black to me."

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "More like darkish-grey really…"

Frodo tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"And, come to think of it, there are technically _two _gates in this design, hence the name Black Gate, singular, is rendered rather redundant-"

"WOULD YOU BOTH PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP?" Gollum's face had turned a rather drastic shade of purple. "Does it really matter what bloody colour the gates are? All I have heard from you two over the last few days is 'oh, this location is slightly inaccurate' or 'hey, y'know, this line of dialogue doesn't stay true to this part of the book…' Y'know what? This is not the book, okay, it is the film _adaptation_. Emphasis on the adaptation there." He poked them both in the chest. "You are in a movie and, thanks to the magic of CGI, this is _my _chance to shine, so kindly just shut up, follow my instructions and try to act a little more like responsible heroes!"

Gollum took a few deep breaths after this tirade. Frodo was just sitting there, playing distractedly with the Ring in his hands.

"Sooo shiny…"

Gollum was about to wring Frodo's neck in aggravation until he realised that Sam was missing. Turning around, he saw that the bumbling hobbit was standing as clear as day atop the edge of the cliff facing the Black Gate(s).

He rushed over and pulled Sam to the ground.

"What in Eru's name are you doing?" he hissed. "The guards will see you!"

Sam shook his head.

"You don't understand – I just threw my Frisbee and it sailed over the gate into Mordor…"

A pleasant calm washed over Gollum at that moment.

"Y'know what?" he said, "Why don't you just go and get it? I've heard that Mordor has quite a lenient policy on returning lost Frisbees."

"Really?" Sam's face lit up. "Alright!" A horn blasted at that moment, signaling the opening of the Black Gate. An army was approaching in the valley below them, and began filing inside the burgeoning gap. "Yay!" cried Sam. "Look! The gate, it's opening!" He peered at the rocks below him. "And I can see a way down."

He stepped on a rock closer to the edge of the cliff, which suddenly gave way beneath his weight. Gollum just sat there, laughing at how comical such a dramatic moment had seemed.

Frodo came up behind him, with a weary look upon his face.

"Sam just fell off the cliff, didn't he?"

Gollum nodded.

Frodo sighed, and began to clamber down after him.

"And I thought it was _Aragorn _who had a propensity to fall off cliffs…"

Far below, Sam had gotten himself stuck in the scree at the bottom of the valley. Frodo soon slid down after him, and started tugging at the fat hobbit's cloak to try and dislodge him.

An army of Easterlings were filing into Mordor at that moment. Hearing a noise, two of them broke away from the rest of their battalion and wandered over towards Sam and Frodo's position. Frodo hurriedly threw his elven cloak over the both of them.

The two warriors came to a standstill; one of them frowned.

"What is it, Bill?"

Bill shook his head.

"I don't know, Bob, but I was sure someone was trying to sneak into Mordor."

"Hmm." Bob had a good look around. "I don't think you need to worry. There doesn't seem to be anything here except for that hobbit-shaped rock over there…" He shrugged. "Screw this, I'm hungry. Wanna go and get an ice cream?"

"Sure."

They returned to their battalion, with nary a look backwards. After waiting approximately two seconds for their departure, Frodo threw back the cloak covering the two hobbits and helped Sam to climb out of the deluge of stones.

"Aww, come on," said Sam, rolling his eyes as he patted himself down. "Deus ex machina or what? I thought this cloak was meant to be green."

Frodo just shrugged, and peered at the Black Gate from behind a nearby boulder. Sam joined him.

"I do not ask you to come with me, Sam."

Sam shrugged.

"I know, Mr Frodo. I doubt even these elvish cloaks will hide us in there, but I wanna get my Frisbee back."

"Don't be so sure of that." Frodo's face hardened. "So, you coming with?"

"Yeah," said Sam, "I've got nothing better to do anyways…"

"Okay then, on three…" Frodo took a deep breath. "One, two, three!"

They both leapt forward, and were promptly flung backwards by a rather pissed off Gollum. Sam rubbed at the back of his scalp.

"Hey, I think you pulled out some hair then…"

"Dude, what is your problem?" Frodo adjusted his cloak. "We were about to go running into Mordor through the heavily-guarded front entrance in broad daylight. It's the best plan we've got!"

Gollum shook his head.

"No, no master! They catch you! They catch you! Don't take it to him! He wants the preciousss. Always he's looking for it! And the preciousss is wanting to go back to him. But we mustn't let him have it."

"Well, yes," said Frodo, "that kinda constitutes the entire plot." He made to run off again, but Gollum pulled him back once more.**  
**  
"There's another way!" he urged. "More secret. A dark way."  
**  
** Sam was suspicious: "Why haven't you spoken of this before?"

Gollum looked shifty.

"Because it's a clearly a set up… I-I mean, Master did not ask! Duh."

Sam tapped the side of his nose.

"He's up to something, but I can't quite put my finger on it…"

"Are you saying there's another way into Mordor?" asked Frodo.

"Pretty much. There is a path and some stairs and then… a tunnel."

"Ooh," said Sam, with a smile, "that sounds comfortingly vague."

There was a clang in the distance, as the Black Gate was finally closed again. Gollum continued to paw at Frodo's arm, urging him to make a decision.

"Ugh, fine," said the hobbit, after a moment. "Let's go through the stupid tunnel then. We might at least get a mildly interesting story out of it…"

Sam shook his head.

"Again with the giant freaking spider."


	22. A Certain Lack of Subtlety

_A correction from my last note – the journey was four hours back and forth to London, _•without•_ any music__ or a phone xD Heh, I was going to the US embassy and they don't allow any electronic devices. I'm not sure how I survived._

_But yes, sorry for the delay with this! I'm studying in the US at the mo and have been so busy adjusting to the ridiculous amount of reading you are set that I forgot about this fic for a moment :D So here is an extra long chapter to make up for the wait!  
_

**XX****X**

Across the plains, the three Hunters (and one senile wizard) were galloping towards Edoras, the capital city of Rohan. A huge hill soon rose before them, clustered with houses and surrounded by a fortified wall. At its summit stood the Golden Hall, whose thatched roof shone in the early morning sun. It was an impressive sight.

The group checked their horses and came to a stand still. Gandalf patted his horse – Shadowfax - upon the neck.

"Edoras," he said, gesturing towards the city, "and the Golden Hall of Meduseld."

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I _know_, Gandalf. I've been here before, remember? I rode with the bloody Rohirrim under King Thengel."

The wizard just decided to ignore him: "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

Gimli gave a despairing sigh.

"Yes, we _know_. We were just discussing this on the way here."

Legolas threw Gandalf a suspicious look.

"How do you even know all this anyways? I thought you had died."

The wizard just shrugged.

**XX****X**

Atop the hill, the Golden Hall was eerily silent. Éowyn, wearing a virginal white dress, knelt before King Théoden, stroking his palm with a shaking hand. The guy was badly in need of a manicure.

"My lord?" she murmured. "Your son, h-he is dead…" Her eyes were filled with tears. "My lord? Uncle?"

Théoden just sat there, staring mutely at nothing. Slowly, he lifted his clouded eyes to gaze at Éowyn.

"Dave's not here, man."

**XX****X**

"So yes," Gandalf was saying, "as you can see, Théoden's son has just died, so we ought to be careful what we say. Do not look for welcome here."

The others gave him a bemused look.

"As we can see from _what_?" asked Aragorn. "We've just been sitting here in silence for the last thirty seconds."

Gandalf cleared his throat.

"Anyways, we better be off." He took up the reins again. "Talk about Fourth Wall reference overkill…"

**XX****X**

Back in the Golden Hall, all was still. Éowyn knelt once more in the darkened bedchamber, weeping over the body of her dead cousin, who was sprawled, pale and lifeless, upon the bed before her.

Quietly, she kissed his hand. Behind her, a shadow lingered in the doorway; it was Wormtongue.

"Oh," he murmured, "he… he must have died sometime in the night." Slowly he walked into the room and came to stand beside her. Then, with a certain lack of subtlety, he gave a huge yawn and deposited his arm upon Éowyn's shoulder. "I understand his passing is hard to accept," he continued, in a sultry voice, "especially now that your brother has deserted you…"

With a weary sigh, Éowyn just took hold of Wormtongue's arm and disentangled herself from his embrace. She stood up from the bed.

"Dude, seriously, I'm not in the mood." She gestured with her hand. "Dead cousin and all. Just leave me alone."

Wormtongue drew closer, eventually circling around her as she stood there, frozen.

"Oh, but you _are_ alone," he sneered. "Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness. In bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in about you-"

"Okay, stop right there," she said, thrusting out a hand. "You're making me dizzy."

Gríma put a hand to Éowyn's cheek.

"So fair, so cold," he sighed, "like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill..."

There was a moment, then, as they both stared deep into each other's eyes. Wormtongue flicked his eyes towards the bed – still containing a rather dead Théodred – and then back again, his non-existent eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner.

Éowyn's expression hardened.

"Dude, fuck you."

And she left Wormtongue standing there, blinking stupidly, and stormed out of the Golden Hall and down its winding corridors, bursting out of the front doors and knocking one of the guards off his perch in the process. He stumbled and fell from the precipice with a muted yelp.

Éowyn did not notice this man plunging to his death, however, as she was far too busy crying her eyes out in despair. Her hair borne up by the wind, she staggered towards the foot of the steps and put on her best angsty face.

One of the remaining guards couldn't help but roll his eyes; he nudged his friend in the ribs.

"She's crying _again_."

The other, hugging his spear against his side, attempted to count with his fingers.

"How many times is that now?"

As if to symbolize Éowyn's emo-tastic suicidal mindset, one of the standards flying before the Golden Hall ripped from its holdings and flew away, carried away down the hill by the breeze. Far below, Éowyn noticed three riders galloping across the plains toward Edoras.

"Ooh…" She lifted a hand and shielded her eyes against the sun's glare. "Is it just me or is that guy sparkling in the sunlight? _Squeee!_"

**XX****X**

Far below, the Three Hunters (and one increasingly unstable wizard) passed through the gates of Edoras and climbed up the hill on their horses. Aragorn was the last to pass through the gates, and as he did so a flag suddenly whipped into his face, causing him to topple off his horse.

The others stood around, bristling with impatience, as Aragorn removed the flag from his face and studied it with a grin.

"Ooh, yay!" he said. "Blatant symbolism rocks." He let go of the flag, and let it drift away on the breeze.

Gimli frowned.

"But what is the symbolism in that?" He pointed at the flag, which was currently flailing about upon the grass nearby.

"Errr." Aragorn scratched his head. "… flags are evil?"

"Geez," said Legolas, who took up the reigns and rode on by, "I'm sure glad you're not our future king or anything…"

Aragorn returned to his horse and followed the others, oblivious to the corpse of a guard lying in the grass nearby.

Edoras was as merry as Samwise Gamgee when he has been informed that the buffet is closed – namely, it was _not _merry at all. Most people were dressed in black or varying shades of black, sweeping dirt away from on top of their dirt. Legolas spurred his horse to go on more quickly, fearing that his immaculate nails would be ruined if one of these peasants were to reach out and touch him. Aragorn behind him looked up at the Golden Hall above them, and noticed a woman dressed in white standing on the steps before it. She gave a little wave.

One of the peasants gestured towards Aragorn as he rode past.

"Who's he?" she said.

Her husband shrugged: "He must be a King."

"How can you tell?"

"Cause," said the husband, who went back to his sweeping, "he hasn't got shit all over him."

"I didn't know we had a King," said another, who stopped and leant upon his broom. "I thought we were an autonomous collective?"

**XX****X**

The doors of the Golden Hall burst open as they approached, and they found their path blocked by a group of guards. The head guard, called Háma, had removed his helmet to reveal hippy girly locks. He gave them all an exasperated look.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," he said, gruffly. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue…"

Gimli scowled: "And what about the rest of us?"

Gandalf just sighed and gestured to the others to give up their weapons. Legolas removed his knives with a pretentious twirl, whilst Gimli grudgingly handed over his axe. Aragorn, however, hugged his sword to his chest and pouted.

"_Mine_," he moaned.

Háma massaged his temples.

"Look, would you just hand over the bloody sword please? This film trilogy is already long enough – we don't need another redundant argument holding up the plot."

The purists in the audience gave a hiss.

Aragorn stuck out his tongue: "Well, at least say 'please' then..."

Eventually, Háma persuaded the ranger to give up his weapons, but stood there bemused as Aragorn proceeded to pull out every conceivable weapon in existence from beneath his cloak. When he was done, there was a small mound of firearms, blades, arrows and grenades sitting on the Hall's threshold.

Everyone gave Aragorn a rather wary look, whilst Legolas simply reached out and handed Háma something with a sigh.

The guard studied it with raised eyebrows.

"Er, this is a tube of mascara…"

"That's right." Legolas blinked a few times. "Why do you ask?"

Háma shook his head.

"But this isn't a weapon."

The elf laughed.

"Obviously, you've never poked yourself in the eye when applying your makeup."

Háma passed the mascara over his shoulder with a disturbed look upon his face. The group then tried to proceed, but the guards still stopped them.

"Your staff," said Háma, with a little nod of his head.

Gandalf frowned.

"Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?" He gave Háma his best puppy dog expression.

Legolas spoke up: "Yes, but doesn't that stick also have magical pow-?"

Aragorn smacked Legolas upside the head.

Háma gave them all a dubious look – especially Legolas, who was rubbing the back of his head with a pout – and then gave a sigh and gestured for them to proceed inside. A triumphant Gandalf turned to Aragorn, and his eyelid was just in the process of closing when-

"No!" snapped Aragorn, putting up a hand. "Do not complete that wink!"

Gandalf frowned.

"Awww, why not?"

"Because…" Aragorn turned and pushed open the doors to the Golden Hall, avoiding the wizard's gaze. "You've done it so many times now it's crossed the line from jolly to pervy…"

"Oh, I don't know," said Gandalf, following Aragorn through, "at least it provides hilarious fodder for drinking games…"

The group entered the Hall in formation, with Gandalf leaning upon Legolas' arm and Gimli and Aragorn bringing up the rear. Théoden was sat upon his throne across the room, and he was staring blankly at something else entirely as they approached. Standing beside him, Wormtongue leant down and whispered in his ear: "My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming. He is a herald of woe."

Gandalf continued forwards.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King."

"Yeah," said Legolas, "and you're all really bitchy today too."

Behind them, Gimli had noticed a group of rather hostile-looking men following them. He tugged upon the ranger's sleeve.

"Aragorn, there are people following us..."

The ranger stopped with a frown, and turned to gaze at said people, who had stopped and frowned at Aragorn in turn. He then took a step back, a step forward, two steps left and then two steps right. It was like looking at a mirror image of himself.

Ahead of them, Wormtongue whispered in Théoden's ear again.

"He's not welcome."

Théoden seemed to have finally noticed their arrival, for he struggled to speak at this: "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf… Stormcrow?"

Wormtongue gave a smirk, and rose to meet Gandalf as he stopped before the throne.

"A just question, my liege," he said. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. 'Lathspell' I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" barked Gandalf. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, bitch. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" He raised his staff with a flourish.

Wormtongue shrieked like a little girl.

"His staff!" he cried, backing away from the wizard. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

The guards just looked about shiftily, many of them whistling a distracting tune. Meanwhile, the hostile men who had filled the room suddenly sprang into action; Aragorn punched one of them as he approached, and gave a huge grin.

"Damn, I am sexy!"

Legolas and Gimli were caught up in their own tussles elsewhere, whilst Gandalf continued on towards the throne. One of the guards, Gamling, went to remove his sword and fight the intruders, but Háma held him back.

"Dude," he said, "just hold on. I'm trying to get fired."

"Théoden, son of Thengel," intoned Gandalf, "too long have you sat in the shadows…"

Wormtongue began to crawl away, unnoticed, amidst all of this. That is, until Gimli stopped him with a foot upon his chest, and gave him an oh-no-bitch-you-do-_not_-want-to-mess-with-me kind of look.

"I would stay still, if I were you," he growled.

"_Okay_," squeaked Wormtongue.

All was now still in the Hall, as everyone gathered around the wizard where he stood before the throne.

"I release you from this spell," he said to Théoden, as he closed his eyes and raised a hand. But nothing happened.

Théoden began to laugh, hoarsely, in a voice quite unlike his own. Gandalf opened his eyes again.

"You have no power here," he scoffed, "Gandalf the Grey!"

The wizard just lowered his hand with a smirk. Suddenly, the room was blinded by the dazzling white of his robes as he flung off his tattered cloak.

"Haha!" he cried. "You did not expect me to switch detergents, did you? Behold!" He lifted his staff, and forced Théoden back against his throne. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound."

And Gandalf dashed forwards then, and took Théoden's face in his hands to _suck out the poison_. Needless to say, Éowyn rushed forwards, pulled the wizard off her uncle and sucker punched him in the nose, feeling thoroughly repulsed.

Aragorn took her arm and pulled her back, as she rubbed her knuckles in dismay. He then reached down and whispered in her ear: "I am so into you right now."

Meanwhile, Théoden/Saruman leant forwards in his throne with some difficulty. His face was twisted in hatred.

"If I go," he snarled, "Théoden dies."

The wizard shrugged.

"I never liked him that much anyways." He jerked his staff and slammed Théoden/Saruman back into his throne. "Go on, kill the bugger – see if I care."

"Um, Gandalf?"

"Not now Aragorn!" snapped the wizard. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" He thrust out his staff again. "Go on punk, make my day."

Théoden/Saruman gave a low growl.

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone!" yelled Gandalf.

And the wizard thrust his staff out one final time. Suddenly, Théoden's body went limp as the wizard's presence left him and he slumped forwards in his throne.

Miles away, in the chamber of Orthanc, Saruman fell heavily to the floor. His forehead was bleeding.

"Ah, monkey balls."

Back in Rohan, Éowyn escaped from Aragorn's grip with a gasp and ran to catch her uncle as he fell. How on earth she would manage to support the heavy pile of furs and atrophied muscle all by herself was anyone's guess, but then nobody made any particular effort to help her. With a roll of her eyes, Éowyn struggled to heave Théoden back onto his throne.

Gradually, before her astonished eyes, his visage began to change: at first an old, grizzled man with clouded eyes, the lines and grey hair faded to reveal instead a young man with clear eyes, brown hair and a rather sexy ruggedness about him. Not that she would voice this opinion out loud, of course.

"Oh god," Théoden moaned, massaging his temples with a groan, "I'm coming down!" He turned then, and blinked a few times at the woman beside him. "I know your face…" He racked his brains for a moment. "…mother?"

Éowyn's tear-stained face just fell. Théoden looked down at the congregation before him.

"Gandalf?"

The wizard stepped back.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend."

Suddenly, the hall was filled with light from the westering sun. Théoden stood up shakily and looked about the Hall, shaking off the last cobwebs from his mind. Everyone was gazing at him in awe.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," he mused. He then looked down at his trembling hands before holding them up to the light. "Dude, my hands are _huge_!"

Gandalf smiled.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword."

Háma had appeared from nowhere, and brought with him the king's sword. Éomer gave a scowl from the shadows as, slowly, Théoden slid the sword out of its scabbard. He attempted to lift it up, but it fell out of his weakened hand and clattered upon the floor, impaling Háma through the foot in the process.

Everyone exchanged a shrug at the significance of this as Háma hopped about the Hall, yelping in pain and clutching his bleeding foot. With a whimper, Wormtongue tried to escape from Gimli's hold but was pulled back by the scruff of his cloak. The next moment, he was seized by the guards and thrown down the steps outside the Hall.

"Ah, crap," he hissed, massaging his back as he rolled onto his side. "I would have just gotten up and walked out, you know! Somebody is getting their ass sued!"

Everyone had followed the commotion outside. Théoden toted his sword with a menacing look in his eyes.

"_Mushrooms_, my eye!" Théoden growled, taking up his sword again. "Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

Wormtongue groveled at Théoden's feet.

"Send me not from your side."

Théoden was not about to show mercy, however (despite his propensity towards being a good guy) and promptly raised his sword to strike. Aragorn sprang forwards and held him back before he dealt the killing blow.

"No, my lord!" the ranger cried. "Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."

Théoden gave a frown.

"Yes, but won't letting him go result in hundreds more deaths when he tells Saruman about the culvert in the Deeping Wall?"

Aragorn lowered his voice: "Ix-nay on the ulvert-cay, okay?"

Théoden's face went blank.

"Huh?"

Wormtongue just shuffled uncomfortably in the background.

"Um, can I go now? All this talk of killing me is making me uncomfortable."

Aragorn waved a hand.

"Yeah, sure."

And so Wormtongue up and left, dashing away down the hill and stealing a horse on his way. No one seemed to care about this latter incident. In fact, they all just turned around and knelt down before Théoden instead.

"Hail, Théoden king!" cried Háma.

Théoden just ignored all of this mindless praise, however, and instead turned to go back into the Hall. He stopped in his tracks when he realised that someone was missing from the group.

"Where is Théodred?" he murmured. "Where is my son?"

They all exchanged an uncomfortable look. Eventually, Háma stepped forwards.

"Let's put it this way," he said, fidgeting a little where he stood. "Everybody whose son isn't dead, please raise your hand."

Throughout the crowd, hands were raised timidly into the air. Aragorn looked around at this sea of hands, and then scowled and swatted down Legolas' hand as he noticed it thrust above his head.

"You don't even have a girlfriend," he hissed at the elf.

Still oblivious, Théoden raised his own hand with a grin. Háma just shook his head sadly.


	23. Modesty, Much?

_Again, I am sorry for a lack of updates lately. I've had so many essays and exams the last few months that my head is still spinning, and it was only really for the first film that I had a bunch of __chapters written in preparation for this fic. I'll be off for the summer soon though, so I can get a lot more written then, I promise! And see if you can spot a Red Dwarf joke I shamelessly stole :D_

**XX****X**

Théoden held up a small white flower with a pout.

"Simbelmynë," he mused. "Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forbearers." He cast away the flower, and watched as it floated down to rest upon the grassy mound before him. "Now it shall cover the grave of my son. Alas, that these evil days should be mine. The young perish and the old linger… That I should live to see the last days of my house."

They were on the outskirts of Edoras, amongst the burial mounds after Théodred's apparently unimportant funeral. Gandalf, who was hovering nearby, gave an awkward laugh and clapped his hand upon Théoden's shoulder.

"Cheer up, Theo. It could be a lot worse."

Théoden's eyes filled with tears.

"No parent should have to bury their child," he murmured.

And, much to Gandalf's horror, Théoden put a hand to his forehead and began to weep. He then fell to his knees in grief. The wizard just shifted nervously where he stood. Oh Eru, was this awkward.

"So…" the wizard said, grasping desperately for a topic, "how's your wife doing?"

Théoden just glared at him.

**XX****X**

A few hours later, inside the Golden Hall, Éowyn was watching the two random children who had shown up at Edoras that evening as they attempted to choke down her terrible cooking at one of the tables. Théoden just sat there in his throne, his hand seemingly glued to his forehead in an eternal facepalm. Gandalf sat next to him, twiddling his thumbs.

"They had no warning," said Éowyn, rising from the table. Aragorn and Gimli were sitting at a table on the other side of the room, while Legolas was doing his best imitation of a pillar. None of them liked children apparently. "They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree…"

Éowyn took a green blanket and laid it over the shoulders of the little girl, Freda, rubbing her shoulders soothingly.

"Where's mama?" asked Freda.

Éowyn just shushed her: "Don't you worry – I'm sure she's just fine." She gave the children a smile, and then straightened up and shook her head surreptitiously towards the others. "Not a chance," she mouthed, and made a garroting motion across her throat, along with the appropriate noise. The children could not help but notice.

Gandalf raised a hand and gestured towards said children: "This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash," he said.

Théoden lowered his hand from his forehead.

"How do you mean?"

Gandalf sighed.

"Well, just think about it – he's burning down all the villages and driving the people into exile… Soon Edoras will be overrun with immigrants! And then who will the people complain to when these foreigners start stealing all their jobs?"

Théoden stared ahead in horror.

"That would be me."

Gandalf leant over, and his voice became urgent.

"Ride out and meet him head on," he said. "Draw him away from your women and children." He rested a hand upon the arm of Théoden's throne, which Théoden noted with a quiet sense of alarm, considering that Gandalf had tried to give him a lip lock barely a few hours ago. "You must _fight_. Even if we lose, it'll still be a good laugh."

Aragorn duly butted in: "You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

Théoden stood up, and began pacing the hall. He shook his head.

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us." Gandalf also stood up and was about to protest, but Théoden continued: "I know what it is that you want of me," he said. "But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

Aragorn lowered his pipe.

"Open war is upon you," he muttered, "whether you would risk it or not. Have you seen the trailer for this movie? Oh man, are we screwed."

Théoden turned around, and gave the ranger the evil eye. Aragorn countered it. Gimli chewed absently at a piece of meat as his gaze darted between the two. The sexual tension was killing him.

"When last I looked," mused Théoden, "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

Legolas raised a timid hand.

"Uh yeah, but he's the lost heir of Isil-"

Aragorn promptly elbowed the elf in the gut. An awkward silence descended for a moment. Gandalf cleared his throat and spoke up.

"So whatcha gonna do, brother?"

Théoden pondered for a moment.

"As far as I can see it, we have two options," he said. "One: we take them on and kill them. Or two: run away…" He paused, and looked about the room. "Who's for two?"

**XX****X**

"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Outside the Golden Hall the villagers were running around like headless chickens, looting shops, stealing horses and setting bales of hay alight and then, realizing that the fires were spreading furiously and threatening their possessions, panicking and quickly stamping them out again. It was a typical Saturday morning in Edoras. When Háma came out and announced that Saruman's forces were coming and the city must empty, the chaos got even worse.

The three Hunters and a possibly-homosexual wizard strolled gaily through this chaos, heading for the stables. Gimli gave a snort.

"Helm's Deep!" he complained. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?"

Aragorn, who was eating an ice cream cone, just murmured and gave a shrug.

"I dunno… Jesus?"

Gandalf was shaking his head as they entered the stables.

"There is no way out of that ravine," he moaned. "Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre."

Legolas was smiling.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he said.

Gimli raised an eyebrow.

"Erm, Legolas, do you even know what a 'massacre' is?"

"Sure I do," replied the elf, getting a bit defensive. "It's when someone gives you a back rub and relieves all of that tension..."

"That's a _massage_, you idiot."

"Oh." The elf scratched his head. "So what's the difference?"

Gimli rolled his eyes as they entered the stables.

Gandalf just continued on: "So yes, Théoden has a strong will but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan yada yada yada." They approached Shadowfax, who was housed at the far end of the stables. Aragorn opened the door for the wizard who stepped inside, leaving the others where they were. He turned to the ranger. "He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defences _have_ to hold."

Aragorn licked at the ice cream which was currently dripping down his sleeve.

"They'll hold, I guess."

Gandalf looked him in the eye.

"Aragorn," he repeated. "They _have_ to hold."

The ranger threw up his hands.

"Dude, calm down. They'll hold. I don't see why it's _my_ responsibility anyways. I don't even live in this bloody country."

Gandalf just ignored this comment, and turned away to lovingly stroke at Shadowfax's neck.

"The Grey Pilgrim..." he mused. "That's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I've walked this earth and now I have no time." He sighed. "Damned running time." Aragorn opened the stall gate. Gandalf snapped out of his reverie, and climbed up onto the horse's back. "With luck, my search will not be in vain," he told them. "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East."

Gimli frowned.

"On the fifth day of what? Lent?"

Aragorn opened the stall gate with his free hand.

"Just go," he said.

Gandalf gave a little salute, and then Shadowfax reared up and galloped away, trampling Legolas half to death in the process. Gandalf slowed the horse and winced as he realised what had happened.

"Aragorn," he hissed accusingly, "you said 'go'. That pretty much means the coast should be clear."

The ranger just shrugged, and walked out of the stable with a chuckle, still licking at his ice cream.

"As far as I'm concerned, it _was _clear."

There was a small groan, and a rather battered and bruised Legolas raised a shaky arm.

"Could somebody give me a massage, please?"

**XX****X**

Back inside the Golden Hall servants were packing away tables, chairs and crates full of food and cloth. Éowyn just stood there, gesturing her arms a bit this way and that and generally trying to give the impression that she was actually doing some work when in fact she was not. Eventually, as the Hall began to empty, she gave up the pretense and flopped down upon a nearby trunk, putting up her feet and picking up an issue of _What Horse? _magazine that someone had left behind near the dais.

She was just finishing a fascinating article about stirrup polish when someone gave a cough behind her; Éowyn whipped around guiltily and saw a servant standing there, looking rather pissed.

"Um, hi there!" she said meekly, quickly hiding the magazine behind her and fumbling with the lock of the trunk. "So, er, how's things?"

The servant simply stood there with his arms folded, an eyebrow raised.

"This doesn't look like work to me."

She got all flustered.

"Yes, well…" She struggled for an excuse. "I'm head supervisor. I supervise the work – I don't actually do it myself. I'm a woman, remember? Archaic gender roles and all that."

The servant just rolled his eyes, picked up a nearby set of spoons, and walked away. Éowyn muttered something uncomplimentary about his mother under her breath and cast away her magazine, reaching down to unlock the chest so she could at least pack something away to show him up.

When she finally got the chest open, she reached into it to pull out a sword. Slowly she removed it from its sheath and held it up to the light with reverence. Then she spun about and held the sword steady, thrusting and parrying at the air before her until she was satisfied that her invisible foe was dead. Then she turned around and lunged with a battle cry that would have made Xena proud.

There was a clash of blades. There, standing before her and blocking her sword with his knife, was Aragorn.

She blinked.

"Um, hi."

Aragorn studied her.

"You have some skill with a blade," he said.

She was frozen for a brief moment, and then she brought her sword around, swept away his knife and pointed her weapon right at the ranger's exposed throat.

"Yes, well," she said, feeling affronted, "swordplay is a lot like making love. You simply wait for an opening, lunge deep with your weapon and hope you don't get hit in the eye..."

Aragorn met her gaze and then lowered his knife. She moved away and resheathed her sword, putting it back into the chest without a word. Then she spoke, and her voice became serious: "Women of this country learned long ago those without swords may still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"Modesty, much?" He watched as Éowyn closed the trunk, and then turned his head to the side a little: "What do you fear, my lady?" His voice was soft.

Éowyn just shrugged.

"Y'know, the usual… Barbarian raids, being murdered in my sleep, not having a date to senior prom… How about you?"

Aragorn did not even hesitate: "Fangirls." He gave a shudder. "Thankfully, we managed to shake them off back at Moria. But they're always lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to strike…" He looked about nervously, noting the abundance of pillars and shadows in the hall they were standing in at that moment. Éowyn was studying him as he spoke, her head tilted in interest. Aragorn cleared his throat. "But yes, er, anyways. You are a daughter of kings, a shieldmaiden of Rohan, you know." He sheathed his knife at his belt. "I do not think that would be your fate."

With a smile and a slight bow he walked away, with that self-satisfied swagger of a man who knows just how amazingly sexy he is without even trying; he could also feel the familiar gaze of someone staring at his ass as he left the room.

Éowyn just stood there for a moment, her lip quivering with fangirlish glee, and then she let out a high-pitched _squeeee!_ and dashed gaily out of the room, desperate to go and write about what had just transpired on her blog.

**XX****X**

Later that day the people of Edoras flooded out of the city, with only as many possessions as they could carry with them. Some toted baskets full of goods, while others laboured with heavy packs and bundles upon their backs; yet others sneaked back through the city gates and looted the inhabitants' homes for the unguarded valuables they had left behind. Said others then fled into the nearby hills, praising the stupidity of their neighbours.

Théoden led this great contingent, and paused on horseback at the brow of a hill to gaze lovingly on the city and the huge honking palace that he got to live in while everyone else starved and lived in dirt.

"I shall never see this place again," he murmured. Then he turned away with a great sense of foreboding and led his people onward to their fate.

Thirty minutes later, a cursing Théoden galloped swiftly back to Edoras, remembering that he had left a light on in the bathroom.

**XX****X**

Over at Isengard, Wormtongue was standing in Saruman's darkened chamber, nursing a bottle of whiskey and dabbing at his bloody lip with a handkerchief.

"… and then they threw me down the steps like a piece of garbage. It was horrible!" He took a swig of the bottle. "It's as though my usefulness in this movie trilogy has end-"

"Yes, yes." Saruman waved a hand. "That's all very tragic. So Helm's Deep, you say? Excellent. I guess I will go and send out some ineffectual minions to hopefully kill them on the way but probably not." The wizard turned to leave the chamber.

Wormtongue stood up, and raised a timid hand.

"They will have women and children with them."

Saruman's eyebrows rose as he left.

"Sweet."

So the wizard took a leisurely stroll through the fiery caverns of Isengard, and paid a visit to the orc in charge of supervising his CGI pets.

"Send out your warg riders," he ordered the orc on guard.

In the pit below, he could hear vicious growls and roars from the creatures trapped there. They threw frightening shadows upon the rocky walls.

The orc gave an evil smile.

"Say please."

Saruman just rolled his eyes and kicked the orc in the chest, sending him crashing down into the warg-infested pit. The sound of howls and tearing flesh told him that they were enjoying their impromptu meal.

"Bloody unions," he muttered, as he walked away.


	24. Star Wargs

_I know, I know. The title is a _•terrible•_ pun, but it had to be used, teehee :D _

_Here is an extra long chapter to make up for the wait! Thank you everyone for the encouraging reviews, and Kameko in particular – I love Kröd Mändoon and am flattered that my fic reminds you of that show. I'm about halfway through TTT by my calculations, which also means I am halfway through the trilogy in general, so yay! I never thought I would get this far with it, and I am determined to get it finished within my lifetime xD  
_

**XX****X**

Across the plains Frodo and Sam were wandering through rocky terrain in the apparent throes of winter; there was a mountain stream rushing up ahead. Gollum dived into the shallow water and wriggled and thrashed about, trying to catch a fish and avoid getting hypothermia in the process.

Sam picked nervously through the rocks in his wake.

"Hey Stinker!" he yelled. "Don't go getting too far ahead!"

Frodo folded his arms and pouted.

"Why do you do that?" he asked.

"What?" Sam turned around.

"Call him names," said Frodo, "run him down all the time."

Sam rubbed at his neck guiltily.

"'Cause, it's fun…" Frodo glared at him. "I-I mean because… because that's what he is, Mr. Frodo. There's naught left in 'im but lies and deceit. It's the Ring he wants. It's all he cares about."

Behind them Gollum was engaged in a titanic battle with a fifteen-foot trout which had taken exception to his fishing.

"You have no idea what it did to him," growled Frodo. "What it's still doing to him." He started to walk away, but then stopped without turning. Gollum gave a muted yelp behind them as the trout pulled him down under the water. "I want to help him, Sam..."

"Why?"

"Because I have to believe he can come back. And audiences love redeemed characters, Sam. I'm thinking of the box office here."

"You can't save him, Mr. Frodo." Sam insisted. Gollum resurfaced, now riding on the back of the giant trout, which was thrashing about and attempting to dislodge him.

Frodo whirled around, his eyes flashing.

"What do you know about it?" he snapped. "Nothing!" They both stood stock still for a moment. Gollum was crying desperately for help as the trout dragged him under again, but neither of them seemed to be able to hear him. Sam began to walk away forlornly. Frodo's face softened. "I'm sorry, Sam. I don't know why I said that." He paused. "Well, yes I do. I'm trying to cause an argument. I need something new to angst about on the way to Mordor."

Sam stopped and turned back.

"It's the Ring. You can't take your eyes off it. I've seen you. You're not eating. You barely sleep. It's taken a hold of you, Mr. Frodo. You have to fight it!"

Frodo's face was twisted with a scowl.

"I know what I have to do, Sam. The Ring was entrusted to me! It's my task! Mine! My own!" He brushed past Sam and continued on.

"Can't you hear yourself?" yelled Sam. "Don't you know who you sound like?"

Frodo just walked away without looking back. Nearby, a long-forgotten Gollum was spat out by the giant trout onto the riverbed. He duly collapsed from exhaustion in a giant pool of saliva.

**XX****X**

That night, Frodo and Sam were fast asleep in a rocky crevasse. Gollum could not sleep, as is probably to be expected when one has just been swallowed and then spat back up by a fifteen-foot trout. He sat crouched a few feet away, huddling his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth in an anxious way.

"We wants it," he muttered evilly. "We needs it. Must have the precious. They stole it from us, sneaky little hobbitses. Wicked, tricksy, false!

And then his brain kicked into schizophrenic mode, and suddenly he began to have a blazing row with himself. It got a little confusing.

"No, not _Master_." Sméagol was insistent.

"Yes, precious," replied Gollum. "False. They will cheat you, hurt you, lie…"

"But Master's my friend."

Gollum almost choked with laughter

"You don't have any friends," he taunted. "Nobody likes you."

Sméagol put his hands to his ears in distress.

"You're a filthy, smegging, lying, smegging liar!"

Gollum's voice became low and menacing.

"You're a liar and a thief."

Sméagol shook his head and averted his gaze in shame.

"Nope… Well, yes, but still-"

"_Murderer_!" Gollum spoke the world with relish.

Suddenly, everything became very quiet. Sméagol began to cry.

"Go away," he pleaded.

Gollum smirked.

"Go away?" He laughed at his other half in derision.

Sméagol spoke again in a quiet voice: "I hate you, you pop-eyed balding git."

But Gollum just continued to lay into him: "Where would you be without me?" He coughed a few times: "_Gollum, Gollum!_ _I_ saved us. It was _me_. We survived because of _me_!"

Sméagol was silent for a moment.

"Not anymore."

Gollum frowned.

"What did you say?"

Sméagol raised his head a little, as if he had just suddenly realised something.

"Master looks after us now. We don't need you." He thought for a moment, and then gave a frown. "As useless and self-absorbed as he may be…" Sméagol's voice became a little stronger, and he continued nevertheless: "Leave now and never come back."

"No." Gollum folded his arms and pouted.

Sméagol just repeated his words: "Leave now and never come back!"

Gollum growled at him in defiance. Finally, Sméagol just lost it.

"Oh, fuck off!"

For the first time, his yell simply echoed into silence. The Sméagol side of Gollum suddenly found himself sitting there all alone. He anxiously looked around, struggling to catch his breath. He grinned.

"We... we told him to fuck off!" he cried. "And fuck off he does, precious!" He jumped down from his seat and danced about in joy, giggling in delight. "Gone, gone, gone! Sméagol is free!"

There was a loud groan from nearby. Frodo rolled over and rubbed at his tired eyes.

"Can you shut up, Sméagol? Some of us are trying to sleep!"

**XX****X**

The next morning everything was decidedly spiffy.

The sun was shining as the two hobbits rested amidst the undergrowth, taking a chance to work on their tans. They seemed to have forgotten about their dire peril-laden quest for the time being. Suddenly, Gollum came running up and dumped a pair of dead rabbits in Frodo's lap.

"Look! Look!" he cried in delight. "See what Sméagol finds!" He guffawed in delight, a fist raised in triumph.

Frodo looked up at him with dead eyes.

"Gollum, seriously, piss off. I'm not in the mood. Somehow, I didn't get much sleep last night. I wonder why that could be?"

Gollum took up one of the rabbits and snapped its back in delight.

"They are young," he said. "They are tender. They are nice. Yes they are! Eat them! Eat them!"

He began to hungrily rip the raw flesh from the bone. Sam wrenched the dead rabbits away from Gollum and held them up by their floppy necks.

"You'll make him sick, you will, behaving like that!" he said in disgust. "There's only one way to eat a brace of coneys."

And so Sam made rabbit stew. He didn't seem to mind building up a hugely conspicuous fire in the process. Gollum, meanwhile, was having a huge hissy fit.

"What's it doing!" he cried. "Stupid fat hobbit! It ruins it!"

"What's to ruin?" Sam moaned. "There's hardly any meat on 'em."

Meanwhile, a pouty Frodo heard a strange sound upon the wind. He got up and walked away a little to investigate.

"What we need is a few good taters," said Sam.

"What's taters, precious?" asked Gollum. "What's taters, eh?"

"POTATOES!" Sam enunciated. "Boil 'em. Mash 'em. Stick 'em in a stew? Lovely big golden chips with a nice piece of fried fish..." He threw a piece of herb into the pot, thinking wistfully of home.

Frodo called over his shoulder as he started into the trees.

"Easy, Sam - you might start an internet meme if you're not careful."

Meanwhile, Gollum was sticking out his tongue in disgust. Sam gave him a look.

"Even you couldn't say no to that." He lifted the spoon to his lips and sipped at some of the rabbit stew. Then he turned and spat it onto the ground. He grimaced in distaste. "Yup, that's ready."

As he and Gollum argued about the merits of fish and chips, Sam suddenly became aware that Frodo was no longer with them. He rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Mr. Frodo?" he called. "If you're walking blindly into the face of imminent danger again I'm not coming to rescue you." He paused for a moment, waiting for an answer, then rolled his eyes and sighed. "Who am I kidding? Here I come again."

He eventually found Frodo lying down amidst some bushes. Just below them the land dipped down into a grassy valley, which was currently crawling with marching soldiers. Sam crouched down low to hide next to Frodo, and Gollum soon joined them.

"What the hell?" said Sam. "This is stretching credibility just a bit. How the hell didn't we notice the big honking army marching right below us?"

Gollum shook his head.

"They are wicked men - servants of Sauron. They are called to Mordor. The Dark One is gathering all armies to him. It won't be long now. He will soon be ready."

"Ready to do what?" asked Sam.

Gollum's eyes shone with fear.

"To make his war. The last war that will cover all the world in shadow."

Sam frowned.

"Sounds a tad melodramatic."

Frodo suddenly looked worried.

"We've got to get moving," he said. "Come on, Sam." And he made to leave, but Sam suddenly grabbed hold of his arm and gestured down below.

"Mr. Frodo, look!" he cried. "It's an Oliphaunt!" Frodo turned back. From the shelter of the trees there emerged a number of gigantic Oliphaunts, transporting dozens of Haradrim soldiers in canopies upon their backs. Their huge footfalls shook the ground. Sam stared at them in awe. "No one at home will believe this... God damn, I wish someone in Middle Earth would invent the camera."

Quietly, Gollum slipped away into the trees. Frodo sensed him gone from his side and looked around in confusion.

"Sméagol?"

Below them, all hell broke loose as a volley of arrows smashed into the Haradrim army from all sides. There were Gondorian rangers hiding amongst the trees, dressed in green cloaks with their hoods pulled down low. The Oliphaunts became agitated in the chaos; one started bellowing in pain and fear and thundered right towards Frodo and Sam's hiding place. Faramir, the lead ranger, reached back and swiftly fit an arrow to his bow, shooting down one of the soldiers riding in the Oliphaunt's canopy. The dead Haradrim fell and landed with an empty thud right next to Frodo and Sam.

"We've lingered here too long," Frodo said. "Come on, Sam!"

Sam gaped at him.

"Ya think?"

Frodo just ignored him and hurried off into the trees. Unfortunately, he managed to run smack dab into the chest of one of the Gondorian rangers in the process. A girlish moment ensued as Frodo struggled to free his sleeve from the man's grip before he was thrown roughly onto his back. There were suddenly rangers anywhere.

Sam turned and noticed his master's distress. With a cry, he drew his sword and charged at the rangers, but was quickly thrown to the ground as well. Someone put a sword to his throat.

Faramir appeared from amidst the trees. He had long brown hair and a fine beard of the same colour, and he was shaking his head incredulously.

"This is the crack team trying to foil Sauron's evil plans? I am deeply shamed."

**XX****X**

Several leagues away, the people of Edoras continued on their way to the refuge of Helm's Deep. Despite his dislike for horses, Gimli was riding whilst he made Éowyn, a recently bereaved lady, lead it by the reins. So much for chivalry.

"It's true you don't see many Dwarf women," he was saying, with his axe slung across his shoulder. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they're often mistaken for Dwarf men."

Éowyn smirked and turned to exchange a look with Aragorn, who was riding behind them, again without offering any lift. The ranger gestured to his chin.

"It's the beards," he whispered. Éowyn shushed him with a smile.

Gimli continued on oblivious to their amusement: "And this, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf women. And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!"

Éowyn started giggling.

Legolas, who was riding ahead, reined in his horse and came to ride in slow pace next to Aragorn. He was showing off by riding side saddle and cleaning his bow at the same time.

"_Do_ dwarf women spring out of the ground then?"

Aragorn gave a shudder.

"I hope so. Just think of how hideous the alternative would be…"

Legolas did think about it, and he duly bent over to dry heave upon the grass at the resulting imagery. Unfortunately, he knocked his bow in the process and sent an arrow skidding into the backside of Gimli's horse. It reared up in fright and galloped away, sending Gimli crashing to the ground with a loud thump.

Éowyn gasped with amusement and ran over to help the dwarf. She was laughing as she helped him to his feet and brushed the grass from his back, oblivious to the agonizing pain that he was now in from several broken bones. She looked back at Aragorn as the wind caught her hair. In that moment, their eyes met and held for a long while.

Legolas nudged a distracted Aragorn with his elbow.

"Don't waste your time on girls like that. They tend to be very proper."

The ranger snorted.

"Yeah? Well, the proper girl just eye-fucked the shit out of me."

**XX****X**

That night Aragorn could not sleep. He rested in the long grass with his knees set before him, absently smoking his pipe of Longbottom leaf. Arwen's words echoed in his mind:

"_The light of the Evenstar does not wax and wane… It is mine to give to whom I will. Like my heart…_"

Aragorn closed his eyes, and his mind drifted back to that last night at Rivendell. They were in the gazebo among the trees, and a light breeze was blowing. Arwen stood by the window in a beautiful purple dress. On the chaise lounge nearby, Aragorn was fast asleep and loudly snoring.

Arwen growled and threw a shoe at his chest. The ranger jerked awake.

"Huh? Where am I?" He pushed himself up on his elbows, and rubbed at his eyes. "What happened?"

"We had sex, you idiot," moaned Arwen. "And you fell asleep afterwards. You never want to snuggle, not even on this of all nights."

She turned away to hide her frustrated tears. Aragorn pushed himself off the bed and walked over to her. He ran a hand through his sex-tousled hair.

"_Min lû pennich nin i aur hen telitha_. You told me once that this day would come."

Arwen turned to look at him.

"_Ú i vethed... nâ i onnad. Boe bedich go Frodo. Han bâd lîn_. This is not the end... it is the beginning. You must go with Frodo. That is your path."

Aragorn came to lean against the balcony railing.

"But do I have to? That bloody hobbit is always wangsting about something. And I'm sure Boromir will have no trouble keeping the Fellowship together…"

Arwen shook her head.

"_Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn. Si boe ú-dhannathach_. It is already laid before your feet. You cannot falter now."

"Arwen…" he murmured.

She stopped him with a finger to his lips. Slowly, her hand slipped down to rest upon the Evenstar hanging around the ranger's neck. Aragorn took her hand in his.

"_Ae ú-esteliach nad..._" Arwen said,_ "estelio han. Estelio ammen_. If you trust nothing else... trust this. Trust us."

Aragorn frowned.

"But what if I meet a really hot chick on the way to Mordor?"

She smacked him on the shoulder.

"No sex."

"Not even-?"

"No."

Aragorn pouted and flailed his arms in frustration in a Turk-like manner.

"You never let me have any fun."

She turned to him.

"You wanna talk about fun? You get to fight wargs and ride horses into battle and fight immeasurable evil throughout this trilogy. All I do for the next two movies is sit around crying and somehow randomly contract plot hole fever." She folded her arms and looked away, down into the valley of Rivendell.

Aragorn pulled her close.

"You're not useless. Who said you were useless?" She gave him the evil eye. Aragorn shook his head. "I-I mean, you get to do lots of neat stuff like…" He paused. "Well, like…" His forehead scrunched up in deep thought as he trailed off into silence.

Arwen sighed.

"Let's face it, Aragorn. The only thing I contribute to this movie is lots of heavily implied pre-marital sex that wasn't even in the books."

Aragorn's face lit up.

"Well, that isn't all bad, is it?"

And he leant in and kissed her. As the beautiful orchestral music swelled Arwen's hand slipped deftly down towards the ranger's waist and began to unbutton his-

**XX****X**

"ARGHHHH!" Éowyn waved her arms about her head, trying to dispel the images. "TMI, okay? TMI!"

It was suddenly and inexplicably the next day, and the group were once again journeying upon the road to the refuge of Helm's Deep. Éowyn was walking alongside Aragorn, who was nursing the mother of all hangovers and regaling her with tales about his last night at Rivendell. It was getting decidedly awkward.

"So, where is she?" asked Éowyn. "The woman who gave you that jewel?" She put up a hand. "And, please, leave out the sordid details of your sex life. I don't want to hear about it unless it involves me."

Aragorn did not reply, but simply tilted his head and stared off into space in a J.D-like manner.

**XX****X**

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Aragorn was back in Rivendell, having a rather terse discussion with Elrond a.k.a. the future father-in-law.

"Listen up, newbie," Elrond was saying. "Our time here is ending. Arwen's time is ending. Let her go. Let her take the ship into the west. Let her bear away her love for you to the Undying Lands; there it will be evergreen."

Aragorn pouted.

"But never more than a memory."

Elrond flicked at his nose and folded his arms.

"I re-he-heeally do not want to keep having this discussion, Carol. I will not leave my daughter here to die."

Aragorn frowned.

"You don't seem to have much problem doing it in the book…"

Elrond just growled and stormed past the ranger, but not without giving him his patented shoulder bump. Aragorn rubbed at his arm and frowned again, deciding to go and talk to Arwen before he left with the Fellowship that morning.

It did not go well.

"So yes…" The ranger rubbed nervously at his neck. "I was thinking, what with this whole Fellowship quest and everything. I am mortal; you are Elf kind…"

Arwen's eyes began to fill with tears.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

Aragorn chewed nervously at his lip.

"'Breakup' is such a strong word… I like to think of it more like a temporary separation. But, y'know a _permanent_... temporary separation…"

Arwen's expression darkened.

"If you are going to break my heart Aragorn Elessar, I want my necklace back." And she stuck out a hand and stood there, eyebrows haughtily raised.

"Hey, I bought you this bloody thing in the first place!"

"And _I_ gave it back to you as a gesture of my eternal love." She went to snatch it away, but Aragorn closed a protective hand about the Evenstar about his neck and stuck out his tongue.

"Fine then," he said. "But I'll only give it back on one condition…" He met Arwen's eyes, and then his eyes trailed down past his belt. He looked up again and smiled hopefully. "One more for the road?"

Five seconds later, Aragorn was walking out of the clearing with the Evenstar around his neck and a black eye forming upon his face.

**XX****X**

Back on the plains of Rohan a frustrated Éowyn stood there, snapping her fingers in front of Aragorn's face; he had been spaced out for ages. The villagers passing by gave the pair many a strange look.

"Yo, my lord?" she asked. "You in there?"

Aragorn slowly turned to gaze at her. His eyes focused again.

"Oh Eru." He slowly put a hand to his head. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't know I was so prone to lengthy flashbacks."

"Yu-Gi-Oh syndrome?"

"Uh huh." Aragorn rubbed at his eyes. "So, what were we talking about again?"

"Umm…" Éowyn thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, we were having an awkward conversation about your girlfriend."

Aragorn snapped his fingers.

"Ah yes, I remember now." There was a pause, as they both remembered that they had been having an awkward conversation about his girlfriend. Aragorn gave a rather strained grin. "So um, yes, she is sailing to the Undying Lands with all that is left of her kin, don't you know."

Éowyn batted her eyelids.

"So does that mean you're single?"

Aragorn shrugged.

"Who knows? I thought me and Arwen had this eternal-plight-our-troths-and-have-lots-of-crazy-premarital-sex deal, but now suddenly she's getting cold feet. Talk about ironic. Who woulda thought that an elven princess who has lived for a millennia could have such huge commitment issues?"

Ahead of them, Gamling and Hamá were riding along on horseback at the front of the group of travelers. Legolas stood nearby, watching them as they passed. Hamá had an anxious look upon his face.

"What is it?" asked Gamling. "Háma?"

His companion sighed.

"Have you ever wondered why we have such stupid names, Gamling?"

Gamling gave a shrug.

"My father never really loved me."

As they continued on their horses began to get restless. Háma looked about nervously.

"Hmm. I have a bad feeling about this. Minor characters never get this much screen time…"

Gamling raised an arm towards a nearby slope.

"Is it that giant warg up there that's bothering you?"

Háma shook his head.

"No no, it's something else…" He sat there in the saddle, tapping his chin in thought as said warg mounted by an orc loomed up large behind him and proceeded to bite his head off.

Gamling screamed like a sissy.

"Wargs!" he cried.

Before the warg could feast on Gamling's head, however, Legolas ran over and shot an arrow into its hide. Then he drew his knife and killed the orc upon its back.

"Don't worry," said the elf, with a big grin upon his face, "you're safe for now."

"Yes," whimpered Gamling, "'now' being the operative word." And he turned his horse around and scarpered from the field of battle.

Legolas just cleaned the blood from his knife and wandered casually over to talk to Aragorn.

"I just killed a scout," the elf said cheerily. "I'm not so useless now, am I?" He went to sheathe his knife and ended up stabbing himself in the thigh. His eye twitched in pain. "Ow."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and ran back towards the others.

"What is it?" asked Théoden. "What do you see?""

"Wargs!" cried Aragorn, his arms flailing. "We are under attack! Don't panic, everyone!"

Upon hearing the ranger's words, the people of Edoras began to panic.


	25. Angst and Puppy Dog Eyes

_As of this update I only have__ three chapters of The Two Towers remaining, yay! :D A smattering of scenes from the next few chapters are already written, so again updates shouldn't be as long as they are wont to be at times. Bring on Helm's Deep!_

**XX****X**

Hysterical screams filled the air as the refugees from Edoras ran in all directions, ignoring Aragorn's vain calls for them to calm down. The ranger ran over to his horse and wearily took up the reins as Théoden galloped up on his horse.

"Get them out of here!" Aragorn yelled at him. "Or at least throw some of the weaker ones to the wargs whilst we leg it! Have you people never heard of natural selection?"

Théoden brought his horse around and tried to restore some kind of order, but the people of Edoras were having none of it. They all continued screaming like extras in Godzilla movies. Everywhere riders saddled up and climbed onto their horses, readying themselves for battle; Gimli even climbed up onto his horse with some difficulty. Legolas ran up the hill and watched from the slope as an entire army of unrealistic CGI wargs barreled towards them.

Théoden hurriedly reined in his horse and called down to his niece, who was preparing her own horse: "You must lead the people to Helm's Deep. And make haste!"

"I can fight!" Éowyn protested.

"No. You're a woman, don't be absurd. I will not tolerate positive female role models in this movie!" Théoden gave her his best puppy dog expression. "You must do this... for me."

Éowyn tried to resist, but eventually she was forced to roll her eyes and admit defeat.

"Fine then." She turned away and began directing the refuges away from the battle, with a sullen frown upon her face. "One day that look is going to stop working on me…"

Théoden ignored her as he kicked at his horse's flanks and spurred it into a gallop.

"Follow me!" he yelled to his men.

Aragorn climbed up onto the back of his horse as Gimli struggled to make his go forward. The people of Edoras continued to run away blindly from the forthcoming scene of battle. Éowyn directed them towards the lower ground and then turned back to watch the Rohirrim depart; Aragorn checked his horse and gazed back at her as the others galloped onwards. They held each other's gaze for a brief moment, and then Aragorn turned and rode away.

Éowyn gave a sigh.

"Every man I meet is either creepy, taken or would rather ride off to his death than be with me…" Her eyes trailed over the rest of the company, which comprised of several dozen riders, some of whom looked suspiciously like women with beards taped to their chins. And then there was Legolas, who stole a moment to check his own reflection in his compact. And Gimli. Éowyn shuddered and left in the opposite direction. "I guess I could have picked a lot worse…"

Meanwhile the Rohirrim galloped up the slope to meet the approaching warg riders. Legolas let loose an arrow from his bow and felled one warg as it came sprinting towards them; it tumbled lifelessly to the bottom of the grassy slope. He shot another and went to reach for a third arrow, but suddenly the Rohirrim came charging up behind him. The elf jumped up and grabbed the reins of Gimli's horse, performing a completely unrealistic somersault and landing smoothly upon the saddle in front of the dwarf.

Gimli folded his arms in protest.

"Show off," he muttered. "You can totally see the switch into CGI."

Théoden led the charge as the Rohirrim thundered onwards towards the warg riders. A chorus of battle cries filled the air as the two sides finally crashed into each other like waves breaking against the rocks. Spears were flung and wargs pounced as the battle began; Gimli lasted barely ten seconds before he fell off Arod's back and landed heavily in the grass (he had been folding his arms and not holding onto anything after all). Legolas just took up the reins with a shrug and continued on, unmoved. Gimli turned to find a snarling warg feasting on a dead horse. It soon noticed him and began bearing down upon the dwarf.

Gimli brandished his axe.

"Bring your pretty face to my axe!" he growled. The warg rushed towards him, but just as it was about to leap at the dwarf Legolas rode by and felled it with one shot from his bow. Gimli sprang back as the warg landed at his feet. "That one counts as mine!" he yelled.

"Yeah, well, sucks to be you!" Legolas called as he rode away.

"Damn him," muttered Gimli. "Since when is he allowed to become the action hero of this piece?" Another warg suddenly leapt at him, however, interrupting his musings. This time Gimli killed it with one swift swing of his axe. Unfortunately, it rudely popped its clogs in mid-air and fell on top of Gimli with a heavy thud. The dwarf tried desperately to shift the carcass from on top of him, but it was about twice his size.

Nearby, Aragorn rode up and sliced the head off an orc mounted upon another warg. Théoden was also adding to his own body count. Gimli continued to try and push the dead warg from on top of him, but an orc suddenly loomed over him and raised its scimitar. Quickly, Gimli reached out and snapped its neck. It fell over dead and added to the pile of bodies on top of him. The wider scene looked like some kind of horrible orgy. The cries of fan girls could be heard everywhere.

"Oh, for Eru's sake," the dwarf complained. "It's as though the director _wants _to rape my character in this movie." He attempted once more to lift the weight from on top of him, but suddenly a fresh warg climbed onto the pile and bared its teeth at him. Thankfully, Aragorn just happened to be passing by and picked up a spear which was conveniently lying around. He threw it at the warg, which died instantly and landed on top of Gimli. The dwarf had all the wind knocked out of him as the warg landed on top of him. "Urgh, fine!" he moaned. "I give in! Bring on the comic relief. It's got be less painful than this…"

Forgotten amidst all this hilarious squash-the-Gimli fun was the fact that an apparently serious battle was still going on around him. Théoden stabbed his sword into the throat of a warg, whilst Aragorn was suddenly knocked off his horse by another warg which leapt at him. He landed on the grass and quickly rolled to his feet, before deciding to hitch a ride with another warg rider called Sharku.

Sharku was understandably pissed when Aragorn blasted him with a head butt, and doubly so when the ranger stabbed him in the chest; Aragorn was soon knocked off the warg and dragged alongside it. He eventually managed to throw Sharku off the warg, but his wrist ended up tangled in the saddle straps upon the warg's back. Like some kind of deformed toboggan the warg careered towards a randomly-placed cliff, taking the ranger with it. Aragorn took a deep breath as he plunged over the cliff's edge.

"Oh shi-"

Annoyingly enough, the battle was all but over by this point. Legolas stumbled amongst the remains of battle calling Aragorn's name. Gimli was not far behind him. They both paused as they approached the cliff's edge. Suddenly, an orc rider that they had thought was dead came coughing and spluttering back to life. He laughed with some difficulty; it was Sharku.

"Tell me what happened," said Gimli, brandishing his axe, "and I will ease your passing."

The orc just coughed some more.

"He's dead," he managed with a wheezing laugh. "Took a little tumble off the cliff…"

Legolas grabbed Sharku roughly by his collar.

"You lie!" he snarled. "This wasn't in the book!"

The orc did not have a chance to answer, however, as he promptly keeled over and died. Legolas noticed something shining in his hand and prized apart the orc's fingers; he held the Evenstar in his palm. Legolas took the pendant from the dead orc's hand and ran to the edge of the cliff with Gimli close behind him. They both looked down upon the raging river below them. There was no sign of the ranger.

"Aragorn fell off the cliff." Legolas frowned. "Well, I guess this is the origin of _that_…"

Behind them, men were bustling about in the wake of the battle. Théoden approached them with a grim look upon his face.

"Get the wounded on horses," he ordered his men. "The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead."

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, you really need to work on your people skills." He gestured to the river. "Apparently deceased friend and all." Théoden just shrugged and walked off. Legolas stared glumly at the water raging below them. He shook his head and murmured again: "But this wasn't in the book…"

"Shhh." Gimli looked about shiftily for any purists who might be hiding nearby. "Don't encourage them."

**XX****X**

Safely away from the heat of battle, the people of Edoras burst into cries of relief as they saw the refuge of Helm's Deep appear upon the horizon. A large stone fortress fashioned from the living rock, it lay nestled at the base of a large mountain like a completely useless lighthouse. Éowyn paused at the top of the slope whilst the people began excitedly descending it, still burdened with their earthly goods.

"We're safe, my lady!" An old woman with matted hair approached Éowyn with a smile. "Thank you!"

Éowyn just shook her head.

"For what?" she said. "All I did was walk a few hundred metres in this direction. For Eru's sake, it only took us about five minutes to escape the battle. It's not really that huge an accomplish-" Éowyn realized the woman was blinking at her in confusion. "I-I mean, yay!" She flung her arms in the air. "We barely established characters escaped the battle whilst Aragorn just apparently died. Let's all celebrate!" The woman gave another smile and then passed her by and started down the slope. Éowyn lowered her arms and followed her with a sigh. "_The Return of the King_ •cannot• come fast enough…"

They soon reached Helm's Deep, and after a long conversation with a man upon the battlements with an outrageous French accent the gates swung inwards and they were admitted in. Apparently the entire population of Middle Earth had been living inside this fortress all along. There were peasants and soldiers everywhere, tending to the sick, gathering food and moving supplies back and forth.

Meanwhile, Éothain and Freda ran happily towards their mother, Morwen, who scooped them up in her arms and hugged them tight. Nobody else seemed to care about this happy reunion, however; they were far more interested in the fact that Théoden and his company came bursting through the gates and riding up towards the inner courtyard.

"Make way for the king!" cried Gamling.

Éowyn noticed the commotion going on below and rushed through the crowds to meet her uncle as the riders dismounted in the courtyard. Her face fell when she noticed their depleted numbers.

"So few," she murmured. "So few of you have returned…"

Théoden dismounted from his horse and looked around sadly. Then he helped a wounded soldier down from his own horse.

"Our people are safe," he replied. "We have paid for it with many lives."

Éowyn did not care, however, about expendable extras. She continued to crane her neck, searching amidst the survivors for any sign of a certain dashing ranger.

"My lady..." It was Gimli. He approached Éowyn with his axe at his side and his helmet removed. She turned to face him with a questioning look.

"Lord Aragorn," she asked, "where is he?"

Gimli's voice trembled as he spoke.

"He fell..."

Éowyn froze in shock, her eyes slowly filling with tears. She looked up and exchanged a look with Théoden, who simply gazed at her for a moment and then silently made up the stairs towards the Keep. Éowyn turned back to Gimli and shook her head.

"A-Are you sure he is dead? Like, seen-the-body-and-poked-it-repeatedly-with-a-stick dead?" Her eyes desperately searched Gimli's face. "Because this wouldn't be the first time that a guy I fancied went off and faked his own death…"

The dwarf just put a comforting hand upon her shoulder and then walked away, leaving Éowyn to lower herself disbelievingly onto a barrel of wine. She'd never even had the chance to tell him all the names she had prepared for their children.

**XX****X**

Up high upon the battlements, an unruffled Théoden was surveying the defences with a small company of men.

"Draw all our forces behind the wall," he ordered. "Bar the gate, and set a watch on the surround."

Gamling followed his liege as he drew away from the wall.

"What of those who cannot fight, my lord? The women and children?"

Théoden shook his head in disapproval as he descended the steps.

"Those bloody women and children. They always get the special treatment. It's all shelter this and lifeboats that…" He continued on, past a pool of stagnant water which was flowing in through a culvert in the outer wall. Dozens of bedraggled peasants sat or stood about, eating their meager rations or huddling about the warmth of a flaming barrel. Théoden evidently did not care about their plight. "Get them into the caves," he conceded. "Saruman's arm would have grown long indeed if he thinks he can reach us here."

Gamling stopped and gazed at his arms for a moment, confused with this expression, and then he continued on and followed Théoden towards the Keep, ignoring an ex-leper who began enthusiastically harassing him for alms.

**XX****X**

Over at Orthanc, Wormtongue just happened to be talking about the Rohirrim defences. A convenient voice over ensued: "Helm's Deep has one weakness," he explained. "Its outer wall is solid rock but for a small culvert at its base which is little more than a drain." He paused and thought for a moment. "But come to think of it, there is a convenient side door that leads from the keep…"

Wormtongue held a candle aloft in the darkened chamber. Saruman was pouring something that resembled gravel into a stone vessel with immense concentration. Wormtongue stepped in closer.

"How?" he asked. "How can fire undo stone? What kind of device could bring down the wall?" His question was soon answered as he leant down to examine the contents of the vessel. There was a loud bang and a spark of flames; Wormtongue dropped his candle in fright. He put a hand to his forehead in panic. "Oh Eru, did I just singe my eyebrows?"

Saruman wiped the soot from his face with a sigh.

"You don't have any eyebrows, you idiot." The wizard rolled his eyes and turned to walk over to the balcony. Wormtongue hurried after him. "If the wall is breached," he continued, "Helm's Deep will fall."

"I still think it would be much easier if we just went through the side door…" Wormtongue trailed off as he stepped out onto the balcony and saw the terrific sight that awaited them. Below stood an immense army; thousands upon thousands of Uruk-hai were arranged in companies below them, brandishing spears and standards and arrayed in gleaming battle armour. They swept like a sea across the Ring of Isengard. Wormtongue gazed at the sight in awe. "Holy mackerel…"

From somewhere below a horn blared, and the air was suddenly filled with the clamour of cheers and the beating of weapons upon armour. Saruman raised a hand and bowed his head a little in humility.

"Thank you all for coming out tonight," he said. With a frown, he reached down and tapped at the microphone before him. "Is this thing on?" A blare of static soon greeted him. He smiled. "Ah, that's better. As I was saying… A new power is rising. Its victory is at hand!" Loud cheers and catcalls rose to greet him. A pair of underpants even landed on his head. Saruman peeled them off with a frown. "I don't know how those got all the way up here…" He shook his head. "Never mind. This night, the land will be stained with the blood of Rohan! March to Helms Deep! Leave none alive!" He raised his arms dramatically. "To war!" The army roared its approval. Saruman gave an evil smile. "There will be no dawn for men."

A tear slid down Wormtongue's cheek at the sight before him. Whether because he found the sight immensely beautiful or because he felt guilty at what he had done, nobody bothered to explain. Damn them.

**XX****X**

"...and that, my friends, is how we know the Earth to be banana shaped…"

Merry and Pippin continued to ride upon Treebeard through the thick trees of Fangorn, and somehow continued to search deep within themselves for the strength not to simply leap off the Ent's back to their grisly deaths. Suddenly, Pippin noticed something upon the horizon. He roused Merry from his slumber and pointed excitedly across the tree canopy.

"Look!" he cried. "There's smoke to the south!"

"There is always smoke rising from Isengard these days," mused Treebeard.

"Isengard?" said Merry.

The two hobbits exchanged a look and then began to climb up Treebeard to gain a better view.

"There was a time when Saruman would walk in my woods," Treebeard mused. "But now he has a mind of metal and wheels. He no longer cares for growing things."

Pippin and Merry just ignored Treebeard as they reached his uppermost branches and peered out across the landscape. An enormous army was marching across the plain from Isengard in perfect formation.

"What is it?" asked Pippin.

"It's a dance troupe of hot cross buns, what do you think it is?" Merry rolled his eyes. "It's Saruman's army, you twit. The war has obviously started."

"War?" Pippin turned to Merry. "What war?"

Merry did not bother to reply; he simply shoved the unfortunate hobbit from his perch. There was a muted yelp as Pippin plunged twenty feet into the trees below.

**XX****X**

Several leagues away, an obviously-not-dead Aragorn was floating insensible in the river. He soon washed ashore and settled upon the bank, drifting in and out of consciousness. Arwen appeared in his dreams, leaning down to give him an obligatory kiss before fading away.

"May the grace of the Valar protect you," she whispered.

Aragorn soon began to stir. Eventually, a random horse arrived and began to nuzzle him into action. It was his steed, Brego, who apparently hadn't gotten the note that this was not the extended edition. Somewhere in the distance Aragorn could hear a faint _squeeeee! _He tangled his fingers in Brego's mane and weakly pulled himself to his feet and eventually onto the horse's back.

"We better get out of here, Brego," he murmured. "I think the fangirls are getting closer."

And so they set off back to Helm's Deep.

**XX****X**

A bunch more leagues away Arwen was lying in her bed and staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, feeling a sudden pang of jealousy which she did not understand. Everything around her was shiny and blue, and she wondered whether the colour graders knew she was in Rivendell and not Lothlórien.

"Arwen."

She bolted upright in bed. Elrond was standing there in the doorway, looking angsty. Arwen hugged her teddy bear tightly to her chest.

"Do you mind?" she said, with a pouty face. "I was busy angsting. You could've knocked."

Elrond evidently did not care about courtesy: "The ships are here. Piss off."

Arwen shook her head.

"I have made my choice."

"Whatever." Elrond tapped his foot impatiently. "He's not coming back. There's no hope, despite what everyone else in this film keeps saying. Also, _The Return of the King_? That's just a typo."

She frowned. Elrond walked across the room and decided to begin an angsty monologue, just to cement the general feeling of angst already apparent in the room, the gist of which was: "Aragorn will die. You will be sad. You will die also. Got it?" As he spoke there came into Arwen's mind a vision of herself, standing in mourning garb and swishy veil, standing over Aragorn's dead body and looking just slightly angsty. The book purists sat there grinding their teeth (although they did perk up at a certain quote from the book) whilst the rest of the audience 'oohed' at the pretty imagery or nipped off to the bathroom. Arwen then walked beneath the trees of Lothlórien and died, or something. All of which served to make her even more angsty,

Elrond turned back to her as he finished. A single tear ran down Arwen's cheek as the vision faded.

"Arwen," he said, with absolutely no hint of pity. "There is nothing for you here, only death." Arwen took a deep breath and turned to her father as more tears fell. How the fact that Aragorn would die had not occurred to her before was anyone's guess. "So," said Elrond, coming over and sitting next to her, "Have I guilted you into sailing then?"

She just shrugged and hugged her teddy bear even tighter.

"Whatever. As long as I can angst some more."


	26. Only Mostly Dead

_Fast update is fast :D__ Hehe, I was determined that I would update this fic as much as possible before the end of the summer and I think I've done pretty well, considering that I didn't have much written in preparation for these chapters._

_I just had a LOTR movie marathon recently, and I've also been watching all of the documentaries again so watch out for tons of behind-the-scenes jokes ^_^ I do so love referencing such._

**XX****X**

And so many of the elves of Rivendell donned shimmery cloaks, took up nifty lanterns and set off on the road to the vaguely-established Grey Havens. Arwen went with them, for there was seemingly only one chartered voyage to these aforementioned Havens and it left in the next few days. Apparently she had never heard of the whole concept of 'wait-and-see'.

Elrond watched her depart from afar. As his daughter slowly turned towards him with an expression of resigned sadness, he raised a hand and gave her a cheery wave. Arwen just rolled her eyes and carried on.

Suddenly into Elrond's head there came the sound of Galadriel's voice speaking random lines of elvish from the prologue. The elf lord stood there with folded arms and tapped his foot impatiently until she had something new to say.

"The power of the enemy is growing," she said finally, as conveniently appropriate images flashed across the screen. "Sauron will use his puppet Saruman to destroy the people of Rohan. Isengard has been unleashed. The eye of-"

"Hey, hey," Elrond spoke to the air before him, wagging a chastising finger, "do you mind? I don't just start randomly projecting telepathic thoughts into _your_ head without warning. Arwen has finally pissed off to the Havens, and I was looking forward to having a little alone time to practice my patronizing voice and lack of empathy. These things don't come naturally, you know."

Elrond heard Galadriel give a disbelieving laugh.

"Alone time?" she cried. "So that time that you started up a telepathic chat whilst I was in the bathtub doesn't count then?"

Elrond raised a guilty hand to the eye which was still bruised from that incident.

"Yes, I remember it well. Celeborn punched me telepathically right in the face."

"Anyways," Galadriel said in exasperation, "could we maybe get back to the dire peril of Middle Earth at hand?"

"Sure, sure." Elrond waved a hand, still speaking to a tree in front of him. "Monologue away."

And so Galadriel continued her dramatic monologue, which simply served to tell the audience things that they already knew e.g. Sauron is evil, men are evil, the Ring is evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. And as she spoke Faramir and his men led Frodo and Sam along the secret ways into Henneth Annûn.

"For Sauron will have dominion of all life on this Earth," she continued, "even unto the ending of the world. The time of the Elves is over." Whilst she spoke Elrond had wandered into his library, and was intently studying a piece by Van Gogh. "Do we leave Middle-earth to its fate?" Galadriel asked solemnly. "Do we let them stand alone?"

Elrond firmly turned and walked away.

"Yes, nuts to them, I say."

**XX****X**

In the hidden refuge of Henneth Annûn, Faramir was having an expositionary discussion with his men. The cave was dark, illuminated by a handful of candles. A man called Madril unfurled a set of directions that he had pulled off MapQuest and laid it upon the table.

"What news?" asked Faramir.

"Well," said Madril. "My wife's just had another daughter, and to tell you the truth I was really hoping that I might get a raise to help pay for-"

"What news _from the_ _war_?" clarified Faramir, with a roll of his eyes. "Minor characters don't have personal lives."

"Oh right." Madril cleared his throat sheepishly. "Er, our scouts report Saruman has attacked Rohan. Théoden's people have fled to Helm's Deep." His finger trailed across the map and pointed at the corresponding spot. "There's gonna be a hell of a battle scene over there shortly. If you think _your _character gets ill-treated in this adaptation just wait until you see what they do to Haldir…" He met Faramir's eye, and sensed that the man did not wish to discuss the finer details of his character arc. Madril shook his head and continued: "But we must look to our own borders. Faramir, Orcs are on the move. Sauron is marshalling an army. Easterlings and Southrons are passing through the Black Gate."

"How many?" replied Faramir.

"Well, there are technically _two_ gates in its design, hence the name Black Gate, singular, is rendered rather redundant-"

"How many _Easterlings and Southrons_?" emphasized Faramir, nursing the beginnings of a headache.

"Oh." Madril grinned awkwardly. "Some thousands. More come every day."

Faramir put his head in his hands and sighed.

"I can't believe I have to deal with this shit. Whatever happened to the concept of the spoilt younger child?" He rubbed at his tired eyes and then gestured to the map again. "Who's covering the river to the north?"

Madril shrugged.

"We pulled 500 men at Osgiliath, but if the city is attacked we won't hold it."

Faramir studied the map spread before him intently. Then he raised a hand and traced the geography of each location.

"Saruman attacks from Isengard," he noted. "Sauron from Mordor. The fight will come to men on both fronts." He looked up at the camera and spoke in a very slow and clear voice: "Take note of the geography, casual audience. Things are gonna get hella confusing pretty soon. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Madril gave his commander a weird look.

"Um, Faramir, who are you talking to?"

Faramir just gave a sigh.

"Again with the Fourth Wall reference overkill…"

**XX****X**

Elsewhere in the cave, Frodo and Sam were freed and pretty much left to their own devices. A ranger named Damrod lingered in the background, keeping a close eye upon the pair, but apart from that nobody really gave a crap that they were there. In the background a waterfall had been rigged to fall in a nifty screen across the mouth of the cave.

Faramir eventually wandered into the cave and lowered himself onto an outcrop of rock beside them.

"My men tell me that you are Orc spies," he said.

"Spies?" cried Sam in protest. "Now wait just a minute!"

Faramir gave a smirk.

"Well if you're not spies, then who are you?"

The two hobbits remained silent. Faramir exchanged a sardonic look with Damrod, who was still sitting nearby.

"Well," muttered Faramir, "I don't know about you but I'm convinced."

"We are hobbits of the Shire," insisted Frodo. "Frodo Baggins is my name and this is Samwise Gamgee."

Sam doffed an imaginary hat.

"Evening."

Faramir simply folded his arms: "And where is your skulking friend? That gangrel creature; he had an ill-favoured look."

Frodo shook his head.

"But we haven't seen Gimli in weeks-" He was cut off by an elbow to the gut. Sam put a finger to his lips and very conspicuously signaled for the ring-obsessed hobbit to be quiet. Frodo straightened again, although a little winded. "There was no other," he insisted.

Faramir raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously, on a scale of one to ten just how dumb do you think I am?" He leant a hand upon his knee and tapped one foot impatiently upon the ground. "So come on then – tell me all about the Quest of which you are sworn to the utmost secrecy."

And so Frodo told Faramir without hesitation: "We set out from Rivendell with six companions. And Legolas." He exchanged a look with Sam. "One we lost in Moria. Two were my kin. A Dwarf there was also, and an Elf. And two men, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir of Gondor." Frodo paused as he took in Faramir's expression. "Would you like me to tell you their blood types and pant sizes too?"

"Yeah," chimed in Sam, "I remember Aragorn's measurements were off the charts…"

Faramir shook his head, however; one of the names had caught his attention.

"You're a friend of Boromir?" he asked.

Frodo looked about shiftily, feeling the colour rise in his cheeks.

"Yes… for my part."

Faramir studied the two hobbits quietly for a moment.

"It will grieve you then," he murmured, "to learn that he is dead."

Frodo's eyes widened in shock.

"Dead? How? When? How…?"

"As one of his companions," said Faramir, "I'd hoped you would tell me." His expression became grave. "He was my brother."

The hobbits stared at Faramir in shock for a moment. Then Sam raised a hand to his chin and nodded in familiarity.

"Ah yes, I see the family resemblance now…" And he mimed a substantial nose upon his own profile. Frodo nodded along as he suddenly noticed it too.

Faramir's face fell.

"This is the movie adaptation, not the book, folks. I think you'll find I am not so forgiving as I am wont to be. Don't push your luck."

And he stormed off to go and stare self-consciously into the mirror.

**XX****X**

A few hours later darkness had fallen. Faramir sat deep in thought with an anxious expression upon his face. There were footsteps behind him as one of the rangers approached; the man clapped a hand upon Faramir's shoulder.

"Captain Faramir," he whispered, "we found the third one."

Faramir stirred and lifted his gaze towards the ranger.

"I'm dying to ask…" He lifted a hand and gestured to his face. "Do you think I have a big nose?"

The ranger just shook his head in despair and turned to leave, his job done. Faramir eventually got over his insecurities and went to go and rouse Frodo, who was none too happy to be woken up at this hour. He staggered half-asleep after Faramir, who led him outside and to the rocks which led up to the edge of the waterfall. Down below was the Forbidden Pool, and Frodo saw Gollum fishing in its waters.

"To enter the forbidden pool bears the penalty of death," said Faramir. He gestured to the bushes, where various archers were hidden with their weapons poised and ready. "They wait for my command. Shall I shoot?"

Frodo looked down incredulously at the pool far below, where Gollum was slapping a still-wriggling fish upon the rocks. He ran a hand through his mussed-up hair.

"What on Middle Earth is so great about this pool that it is forbidden?" The hobbit raised an eyebrow as he stared down at the waters below. "Talk about pretentious."

Faramir raised a hand, meaning to object to the hobbit's words, but then he frowned and fell silent. After a moment he shook his head.

"It has nothing to do with pretension - it is the principle of the thing!"

"What principle?" cried Frodo. "It's just a bloody pool. What is so special about it?"

"Well…" Faramir struggled for words. "I-It is very shiny, you know."

Frodo just rolled his eyes and pushed past the ranger, making his way down the rocks towards the pool below.

"He is our guide," the hobbit said. "Now please refrain from shooting me while I go down and talk to him." The next moment there was a cry and a sharp thud. Frodo nursed his aching foot and turned to glare at one of the archers, who had accidentally let slip an arrow from his bow.

"Sorry," said the man sheepishly.

Frodo just rolled his eyes again and continued down the rocks. By the pool below Gollum was busy eating his fish raw. Frodo approached him cautiously, being careful to avoid falling on the slippery rocks by the water's edge.

"Sméagol," he said. Gollum looked up, and Frodo gave a little wave. "Hey there. No hard feelings about the whole abandoning-us-in-the-face-of-grave-danger thing. Let's continue on our suicide mission to Mordor, shall we?"

Gollum studied the hobbit carefully for a moment, his fish forgotten.

"We must go now?" he asked.

"Pretty much," said Frodo with a shrug. "You coming with?"

Gollum frowned.

"But what about those evil men that brought you here?"

Frodo waved off the suggestion with a nervous laugh.

"Don't worry about them. I'm apparently safe and sound now. This is obviously not a ridiculous ploy to grab you or anything…" He looked about shiftily. "Um, forget that last bit, will you? Come on now. This film is really beginning to drag."

With a wary frown Gollum put his fish in between his teeth and crawled after Frodo. Suddenly there was a rustling in the bushes; a number of rangers sprung out of hiding and grabbed Gollum, who subsequently dropped his fish with an indignant cry.

Frodo rolled his eyes for the third time that night.

"Geez, Gollum," he said. "I never realized you could be so gullible. You are worse than Samwise Gamgee when someone tells him there is a free buffet-"

"Where?" Sam emerged from the bushes the next moment, breathing heavily. He had obviously just run a mile. "I heard the word 'buffet'."

"Sorry, Sam," said Frodo, staring at the hobbit incredulously. "I just mentioned it while making a point to Gollum here…"

Sam folded his arms and scowled.

"Yes, well, let's try to be a little more careful when we use that word."

And he stormed off back to the cave. Frodo just shook his head as he followed his friend inside. The rangers dragged Gollum in after them.

"And I thought _I _had problems…"

**XX****X**

After the rangers had all had a nice game of kick-the-Gollum, Faramir somehow deduced from the creature's ramblings that the hobbits were in possession of the Ring of Power. Just to spite the purists further, he gave Gollum another swift kick before leaving the room to go and talk to Frodo.

Gollum remained sprawled upon the floor, clutching his stomach in pain.

"Why does everyone in this movie keep hitting me?" he moaned.

Meanwhile, Sam and Frodo were killing time in a storage room somewhere in the back of the cave. Sam was leaning against the wall, impatiently tapping his fingers upon the top of a barrel, while Frodo lay upside down with his feet propped against the wall.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Frodo?"

Frodo clasped his hands together behind his hand and gave a sigh.

"Do you ever get the feeling that we are just killing time in this movie?"

Sam weakly shrugged.

"Meh, at least we don't have to endure all those night shoots."

There was a noise from the corridor outside. The two hobbits scrambled to their feet as Faramir appeared in the doorway, looking ambiguously evil. He unsheathed his sword.

"So," he murmured, "this is the answer to all the riddles. Here in the wild I have you, two halflings and a host of men at my call…. the Ring of power within my grasp." Faramir slowly approached Frodo and touched his sword to the hobbit's throat, carefully hooking the Ring upon its chain and drawing it out from under Frodo's shirt. Sam just stood there, apparently unaffected by his master's plight. "A chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to show his quality…"

Frodo just glared at the man.

"Um, ow?" He reached out a finger and touched it to the sword tip, slowly pushing the blade away from where it was hovering at his throat. "I don't just walk up to _you_ and shove a sword against _your_ throat. Talk about rude."

Faramir lowered his sword, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Frodo walked off and sulked in the corner with his arms folded. Sam wagged a finger at Faramir.

"Stop it!" he cried. "Leave him alone. Don't you understand? He's going to destroy it. That's where we're going, into Mordor. To the mountain of fire."

"Hmm." Faramir returned his sword to its sheath. "Guess it sucks to be you."

Frodo snatched a glance over his shoulder.

"Tell me about it…"

Just to conveniently heighten the tension of the situation, Damrod came bursting into the room at that exact moment. He leant in and began to murmur something urgent to Faramir, but Sam broke in with an indignant cry.

"Hey, much with the rude! Why can't you just say what you have to say loud enough for everyone to hear, huh?"

Damrod stammered a little.

"I-I just-"

"You just what?" cried Sam. "Come on, out with it! What is so bloody important that you have to come and whisper it into your commander's ear, regardless of who else is in the room? Huh?"

By now Faramir had turned to his soldier, and he was impatient to hear what the man had to say as well. Damrod looked around the room at all of the expectant faces now watching him and sighed.

"I was just going to say that we have run out of toilet paper…" His voice was deadpan as he turned back to Faramir and added: "Oh yes, and Osgiliath is under attack. They call for reinforcements. Dire peril and all that."

And Damrod turned and left Faramir and the hobbits to stew in their own awkwardness.

**XX****X**

Elsewhere, a seemingly-not-dead Aragorn rode on swiftly towards Helm's Deep. He stopped his horse for a moment as he saw a horrifying sight stretching out across the plains before him. It was Saruman's army, and it was immense. Suddenly Aragorn was tempted to simply turn his horse around and leg it in the opposite direction.

But then again, there was a rather hot chick at Helm's Deep waiting for him. And his companions. And Legolas. And he supposed all those bedraggled women and children would probably need his help as well, what with the immense army of Uruk-hai which was currently matching straight towards them…

Aragorn gave a sigh. He supposed that he had better stay. He patted Brego upon the neck.

"_Mae carnen, Brego, mellon nîn_," he said. "Well done, Brego, my friend." Then his tone became conspiratorial as he leant in closer. "If you tell anyone about what happened on the riverbank, I will deny everything. Dom will never let me hear the end of it…"

And so once he had received firm assurances from Brego that he would stay silent, Aragorn took up the reins and spurred the horse on towards the fortress in the distance. Soon enough the ranger was galloping up the bridge towards the gates of Helm's Deep. The people gathered behind the walls exchanged looks and gasps of wonder as he rode through the crowds and up towards the Keep.

"He didn't fall?" cried one of the refugees. "Inconceivable!"

His friend frowned.

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Aragorn ignored all of this attention from the extras, however, and continued on up to the Keep. He soon reined in and dismounted from his horse. Gimli pushed his way through the murmuring crowd which had gathered and stared at the ranger in disbelief.

"I thought you were dead!" he cried.

Aragorn gave a shrug.

"It just so happens that I was only _mostly_ dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead."

Gimli just pulled Aragorn in for a giant hug. The ranger pushed him away in disgust at the slash potential and asked the urgent question: "Gimli, where is the king?"

The dwarf gestured towards the Keep behind him. Aragorn left him and hurried through the crowd. He was stopped in his tracks by a certain elf.

"_Le ab-dollen_," said Legolas, with a smile. "You're late." The elf suddenly sobered, however, as he took in Aragorn's condition. "You look terrible."

"Well, thanks." Aragorn's face fell. "Such a nice thing to say to your friend when he has just apparently died. I hope you die screaming with sharp things in your head."

A few feet away, Éowyn was trying to get some of the refuges sleeping upon the steps to move along, but they were having none of it. She stopped short when she saw the apparently-not-dead Aragorn standing there, enduring a hug from a sobbing Legolas. The elf soon drew out the Evenstar necklace and handed it to the ranger. Éowyn felt a pang in her heart at the sight.

"Goddamn," she thought to herself with a frown. "Everyone gets to date that guy except me. Stupid sexy Aragorn."

**XX****X**

The obviously-not-dead Aragorn ignored Éowyn for now and pushed open the doors to the Keep in suitably sexy slow motion. Théoden and his men were apparently having a party in his absence, and seemed greatly disappointed when they saw that the ranger was back. Théoden removed his ridiculous paper hat fashioned into a crown with a glum look upon his face.

"A great host, you say?" said Théoden, once he had been acquainted with Aragorn's amazing tales of derring-do.

"Yes," said the ranger, with a roll of his eyes, "that is what I just finished telling you. All Isengard is emptied."

Théoden stood with his back to the ranger, his eyes betraying his fear. Everybody had gathered in the chamber after Aragorn's miraculous arrival.

"How many?" he asked.

"Ten thousand strong at least," said Aragorn. "Plastic toys of your lordship. From your skull scanned in a small dark room, my lord... Shall I tell them it's alright, my lord?"

Théoden turned towards the ranger in confusion.

"Pardon?"

Legolas just sniggered in the background as someone's cellphone began to ring.


	27. Mexican Waves and Volleyball

_Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews ^_^ I thought I had just one more chapter of The Two Towers left to write, but there is so much material left I'll probably end up squeezing it into two. I can't believe I am nearly two thirds of the way through this behemoth :D The home stretch is in sight!_

**XX****X**

Despite his seemingly-apparent-but-obviously-not-dead condition Aragorn joined Legolas and Gimli as they followed King Théoden along the route behind the Deeping Wall. Théoden was relaying orders to Gamling who, after scarpering from the field of battle during the warg attack, had eventually been found at Helm's Deep shivering in a box.

"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall," Théoden explained.

Behind him, Gimli cleared his throat awkwardly. It sounded suspiciously like the word 'sexist'. Théoden gave the dwarf the evil eye as Gamling quietly slipped away to go and recruit the soldiers. By now the group had reached the open gates of Helm's Deep.

"As I was saying," continued Théoden, with a lingering glance at the dwarf, "we will cover the causeway and the gate from above. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg."

The three Hunters all exchanged a surreptitious look. This guy was just asking for it, seriously.

"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs," insisted Gimli. "These are Uruk-hai. Their armour is thick and their shields broad. You are all royally screwed."

Théoden raised an eyebrow: "I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own keep."

"Hmm yes," said Gimli, "'cause you've been doing such a swell job up until now…"

Théoden glared daggers at him.

"And what would a dwarf know of the wars of men?"

Gimli laughed contemptuously.

"Obviously you have not heard of the legendary battles of the dwarves!"

Théoden scowled and touched a hand to the hilt of his sword. Before things could escalate further, however, Aragorn had stepped in between the two.

"Geez, calm the hell down will you?" he cried. "You're both worse than Samwise Gamgee when he has shown up late for a buffet."

Although the atmosphere remained rather prickly, Théoden left without another word and the group returned inside the safety of the walls.

"They will break upon this fortress like water on rock," soliloquized Théoden. "Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn, we've seen it before." He passed through crowds of refugees as he spoke, apparently oblivious to the horror which grew upon their faces at his words. Apparently they did not understand the concept of a 'soliloquy'. Théoden continued on oblivious: "Crops can be resown; homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages," insisted Aragorn. "They come to destroy its people - down to the last child." Nearby, a female refugee covered her child's ears in distress. Aragorn rolled his eyes and turned to her. "You can't protect them forever, you know!"

Théoden had stopped in his tracks by now. He turned to face Aragorn in frustration and grabbed the ranger by the collar. Again with the sexual tension.

"What would you have me do?" he asked. "Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread." As he spoke a number of guards behind him quietly deserted their posts. "If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance!"

"Dude, it's obvious you have a suicide wish. Don't drag the rest of us into it." Aragorn brushed off Théoden's hand from its grip upon his collar. "Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid. Or at least some pizza."

"And who will come?" cried Théoden. "Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."

"Hmm, well, it's hard to understand why." Aragorn rolled his eyes. "You all have such great people skills in Rohan…" He thought for a moment and then said: "Gondor will answer."

"Gondor?" mocked Théoden. "Don't be absurd - Jackson is saving that set piece for the third movie. So no, my lord Aragorn, we _are_ alone." And Théoden promptly walked away, calling out orders to non-existent men as he went.

Aragorn shook his head wearily and then turned around, with half a mind to go and ask Éowyn if she wanted a quickie before their impending grisly deaths. He almost had a heart attack when he found Legolas standing behind him, smiling cheerily.

"Legolas?" he cried, putting a hand to his chest. "How long have you been standing there?"

The elf shrugged.

"I don't really have anything else to do plot-wise in this movie, so I thought I would just trail around after you for the next five or six hours…"

Aragorn just groaned as he pushed past the elf and made down the steps to go and visit the armoury. A flock of carrion crows wheeled over the battlements above them as he went.

"Seriously, Legolas, it's at times like this when I don't blame the fangirls for drawing the wrong conclusions about us…"

**XX****X**

Many leagues away in the heart of Fangorn Forest, Treebeard had reached a large clearing amongst the trees. The two comatose hobbits upon his back were suddenly roused from sleep as he spoke.

"We Ents have not troubled about the wars of men and wizards for a very long time," Treebeard said. "But now something is about to happen that has not happened for an age: Entmoot."

"What's that?" asked a bleary-eyed Merry.

Pippin frowned as he gave a stretch.

"Sounds like a Swedish rock festival."

Treebeard shook his head: "'Tis a gathering."

"A gathering of what?" said Merry.

Suddenly there was a series of creaks and groans from the trees around them; the hobbits turned around to see other Ents emerging from the forest on all sides.

"Beech, oak, chestnut, ash..." Treebeard nodded in approval as the Ents arrived. "Good, good, good. Many have come. Now we must decide if the Ents will go to war."

"So what?" asked Merry, raising an eyebrow. "Are we just going to stand around, making a redundant decision about whether we go to war or not for the next hour? Let me make it easier for you: will the Ents go to war? YES!"

Everybody just ignored him, however. After all, Jackson needed to do _something_ to stretch out this film trilogy to nine hours.

Merry turned to Pippin with a sigh.

"Seriously, what on earth have we even done in this film? Just rode along on a gigantic tree for hours on end and gotten our family jewels crushed in the process…" He shifted a little where he sat, hissing uncomfortably through his teeth.

Pippin gave a shrug and answered: "Remember what Frodo said: '_In a world filled with mirth and magic, you lose time in yourself._'

Merry tried very hard not to push Pippin from Treebeard's back again.

"Pippin," he said despairingly, "sometimes I can't believe how gullible you are…"

His fellow hobbit beamed with pride.

"Thanks."

**XX****X**

Back at Helm's Deep, the women and young children were being shepherded into the Glittering Caves, effectively disposing of several hundred extras for the duration of the battle. Many a young lad or wizened senior was dragged away to be recruited for battle, serving to piss off the females in the audience even further. Éowyn simply gave a sigh and followed the other women deeper into the caverns, muttering a mantra of '_Return of the King_' over and over to herself as she massaged her temples.

Elsewhere, as further testament to their relative uselessness for the rest of the trilogy, Legolas and Gimli continued to trail Aragorn as the ranger paid a visit to the armoury. It was filled with men arming themselves with battered swords and shields. The ranger looked about him glumly.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he muttered. "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters," said Gimli.

"Or too few." Legolas glanced around for a moment, and then added: "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." The room fell silent at his words. Awkward was an understatement. "_Boe a hûn: neled herain dan caer menig_!" he added. "And they should be... Three hundred against ten thousand!"

Gimli frowned: "Sounds just like Zulu."

Aragorn shook his head in despair.

"Seriously, Legolas, your elvish is appalling. And what's with the sudden despair? Four scenes ago you were just joking with me about my apparent death."

The elf shrugged.

"Beats me," he said. "But it serves as good fodder for angst fic." Aragorn gave a sigh. The elf carried on regardless: "_Belain na le_! Aragorn, we are warriors. They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"

The ranger was about to fiercely retort, as per the directions in the script, but instead he lowered his hand and paused.

"Legolas, did you just say the English part in elvish and the elvish part in English?"

"The who whatting how with huh?"

The ranger just rolled his eyes at the elf's stupidity and stormed out of the room, leaving Legolas and Gimli alone with a room full of armed and royally pissed-off Rohirrim. Gimli gave a smile and waved meekly at the men as they slowly advanced on the pair, their spears and swords raised in anticipation.

"So yes," Gimli stammered, "anybody here seen _The Alamo_?"

**XX****X**

In the main hall of the Keep Gamling was busy dressing King Théoden in his armour, since apparently the guy was too important to bother doing it himself. From outside a bright light kept flashing in and out of focus as people rushed to and fro, getting ready for battle (or, y'know, fleeing, as many of them had the common sense to do).

"Every villager able to wield a sword has been sent to the armoury," Gamling said. Théoden did not answer at once. Gamling snapped his fingers in front of the man's face. "My lord?"

Théoden's voice was solemn: "Who am I, Gamling?"

Gamling frowned as he lugged over Théoden's breastplate.

"Sire, have you been into those mushrooms again?"

Théoden shook his head insistently.

"Do you trust your king?" he asked.

Gamling gave a shrug as he attached Théoden's breastplate and secured it in place.

"Not particularly. You seem like a bit of a whack job, to be honest."

Théoden ignored the man's words, however, as he launched into another angsty soliloquy: "Where is the horse and the rider?" he murmured. "Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the west. Behind the hills, into shadow…"

As Théoden spoke another convenient montage played, showing the villagers of Rohan preparing themselves for battle. Many a mother was separated from her child as the Rohirrim recruited ever more men to go do battle. Éowyn sat upon a rock in the middle of the caves, a rather prominent vein bulging on her temple.

Back in the main hall of the Keep, Théoden stood there gazing ahead as if in a trance. "How did it come to this?" he finished.

There was a quiet rustle of paper as Gamling handed something to Théoden.

"It says so in the script, my lord."

**XX****X**

After his very public lovers' tiff with Legolas, Aragorn had stormed outside and sat down to sulk upon the steps of the Keep. There he noticed a young boy dressed in armour, looking about in confusion; in his hand he clumsily held a sword.

Aragorn gestured for him to approach.

"Give me your sword," said the ranger. The boy handed it to him. "What is your name?"

"Haleth," said the boy, "son of Háma, my lord." His voice became desperate. "The men are saying that we will not live out the night. They say that it is hopeless."

Aragorn was barely listening as he stood up and began playing with the sword, swinging it back and forth and thrusting at the air with barely suppressed frustration.

"Wait a minute…" the ranger muttered, lowering the sword with a frown. "Háma has a son? One of the men told me that the guy shoots blanks." He furrowed his brows in thought for a moment. "Ah yes, I remember now. There was something I was meant to tiptoe around in front of you to spare your feelings…" He tapped his chin in thought. "Adopted! Yes, that was it. Háma said that you were adopted and none of us were to mention it. And then I-"

Aragorn trailed off when he noticed the look of utter horror upon Haleth's face. Silently, he returned the sword to the youth's hand and gave a weak smile.

"Um, there is always hope, you know." And he slipped away to go and visit the armoury, feeling suddenly thankful that the boy's father was already dead.

**XX****X**

As dramatic music played Aragorn donned his armour in a suitably sexy montage. He was just about to reach for his sword when somebody handed it to him instead. The ranger looked up and saw Legolas before him. Aragorn quietly took the sword with a nod.

"We have trusted you this far," said Legolas, "and you have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

"Yeah, you were." The ranger girt his sword about his waist. "One minute you're a light-hearted action hero, the next you're angsting like there's no tomorrow." He secured his sword with a flourish. "And I thought Arwen's characterization was inconsistent in this movie…"

Aragorn continued to fiddle with his sword belt when he noticed something peering from beneath Legolas' tunic. The ranger loosened the ties, ignoring the elf's protests as he did so, and let the garment hang open to reveal a printed t-shirt underneath.

"Legolas," he growled, "what in the hell are you wearing?"

The elf looked away in embarrassment, attempting to fasten the ties of his tunic once more. Underneath all his armour he plainly wore a t-shirt bearing the words '_Team Arwen_'. "Hey, we elven sisters have to stick together!" he cried. "Pick a side or die. Or, y'know, live forever in my case." He lifted his chin in contempt and fastened his tunic again, the colour rising in his cheeks.

Aragorn just gawped at him.

"Gimli," he said breathlessly, "do you see what this idiot is…?" The ranger trailed off as Gimli turned towards him, his chain mail hanging loosely from one arm. He too wore a similar t-shirt, this one emblazoned with the words '_Team Éowyn_'.

"What?" Gimli stared at Aragorn in confusion for a moment. Then he lowered his head and took in his shirt. "Oh." He sheepishly pulled his chain mail down over it.

Aragorn threw up his arms.

"Why in Eru's name are you two wearing those?"

Gimli shrugged and pointed towards Legolas.

"I just tend to go in the opposite direction of him."

Legolas folded his arms.

"Hey! There is a huge battle coming up. We all need to pick sides." He lowered his voice. "And at least _some_ of us don't go fooling around while we are still married…"

Gimli's face was twisted with a scowl.

"Now cut that out! We may have developed feelings for somebody else but at least we weren't going to sacrifice having kids to maintain a career!"

Legolas stuck out his tongue at the dwarf.

"Whatever, home wrecker. Go buy yourself another orphan."

With a battle cry the dwarf rushed at him, his fists flying like a windmill. Aragorn rolled his eyes and came in between the two of them, holding back Gimli who was threatening to overbalance with all of his chain mail on.

"Now stop it!" he cried. "Would you all please back away from my personal life, seriously?" He waited until they had both calmed down a little and then lowered his arms. "Besides, I was kinda hoping they'd both be up for a threesome…"

A horn sounded from somewhere outside. They all turned towards the stairs; Legolas ran up them some ways and listened intently.

"That is no Orc horn," he said.

"Well duh."

The three exchanged a look and then ran out onto the battlements. All of the guards on duty were looking down towards the causeway of Helm's Deep in wonder. A huge battalion of elves from Lothlórien had come to join the battle, led by Haldir himself.

Aragorn shook his head as the gates were opened and the elves marched into the Hornburg.

"So, let me just get this straight… I noticed the Uruk-hai army - which is still several leagues away, might I add - on my way back here, but the freakin' battalion from Lothlórien somehow failed to garner my attention…?"

"I'll say." Haldir came to a stop and rolled his eyes. "I think I shouted myself hoarse trying to get your attention. We were about a hundred yards behind you the whole time, you complete twonk."

Théoden stepped forward from amidst the crowd which had gathered.

"How is this possible?" he gasped.

Haldir turned towards Théoden and gave him his very special extra long salute he reserved for the especially important.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell," said the elf. "An alliance once existed between elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honour that allegiance." Aragorn gave a chuckle. Haldir raised an eyebrow pointedly at him. "And what on Middle Earth do you find so funny?"

The ranger just walked away with an ironic smile upon his lips.

"Oh, you'll see, my friend, you'll see. The purists are going to have a field day…"

**XX****X**

An hour or so passed. A low booming echoed in the darkness as Saruman's immense army approached Helm's Deep. Down in the Glittering Caves, bedraggled women and children sat huddled about in fear, listening to the sounds of the approaching army with increasing terror; many a mother drew her baby close and tried desperately to soothe its tears. Up above, the soldiers waiting upon the battlements amused themselves by performing a series of Mexican waves.

Gimli was not in a good mood, however, since he was about a foot too short to see over the top of the battlements. He grumbled and attempted to jump up and down to gain a view.

"You could have picked a better spot!" he moaned to Legolas, who was standing beside him. "I am vertically-changed, you know!" Legolas just gave a vindictive smirk. Gimli narrowed his eyes and jabbed his finger angrily at the elf. "Hey, I saw that!" he cried. "This is completely racist!"

"Racist?" The elf raised an eyebrow. "How is it racist?"

"You are jealous of the legendary stature of the dwarves!"

Legolas rubbed his temples in frustration.

"Again with the legendary qualities of the dwarves…" The elf shook his head. "You know what, Gimli? This is _all _in your head! Dwarves are not cool; they are not beautiful, they are not Balrog slayers. They are short, they are ugly and they are hairy. They better cast me in _The Hobbit_, I'm telling you, or that thing is going to bomb. Just look at the cast! Gandalf, Bilbo and a dozen or so dwarves… Where is the sex appeal?"

The next moment Aragorn randomly approached, saving Legolas from having his ass roundly kicked by his dwarven counterpart. Where on earth he had been between this scene and the last nobody bothered to mention.

The ranger nodded his head.

"'Sup?"

There was a rumble of thunder above them, and then a flash of lightning. It illuminated the undulating mass of Uruk-hai marching along the plain towards them. Théoden stood upon the wall above the Keep; next to him Gamling's knees were knocking together. Behind him a few more men upped their posts and deserted at the sight of the approaching army.

Aragorn sighed.

"How do we always land ourselves in this shit?" he asked. Beside him Legolas gave a shrug. Thunder rumbled again, and suddenly the pinging of water on armour signaled that it had began to rain. Soon the defenders were drenched to the skin. The ranger stood there with a deadpan look upon his face, his hair now plastered to his forehead. "Seriously, who is on the doom-laden Quest here? We're about to get slaughtered for a bunch of nomadic pricks on horses, and Frodo and Sam are out there somewhere on a glorified hike."

Legolas did not answer; quietly he reached down and unfurled an umbrella.

Before them the sound of the army grew louder and louder as it approached Helm's Deep. One of the Uruk-hai climbed up onto a rocky outcrop and urged his brethren on further. Aragorn began to walk down the line of elven archers, yelling orders.

"_A Eruchîn,_" he cried,"_ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas!_ Show them no mercy! For you shall receive none!"

Below the Uruk-hai leader commanded his army to stop in its tracks with a ferocious cry. It paused barely metres from the line of the wall; the orcs shifted impatiently and growled beneath their helmets. Some of the Rohirrim defenders upon the battlements readied their bows and arrows.

Gimli was straining to see once more: "What's happening out there?"

"Shall I describe it to you?" asked Legolas with a grin. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

Gimli glared at him.

"You are treading on a very thin line, me laddo."

The leader of the Uruk-hai cried out again, and this time the enormous army of orcs began to smash the ends of their spears against the rocky ground. A sound like thunder echoed across the plain and down into the Glittering Caves as Aragorn unsheathed his sword in reply. Upon the battlements one man suddenly lost the grip upon his bowstring; an arrow whistled through the air and slammed into the neck of one of the Uruk-hai below. Everyone caught their breath.

"_Dartho!_" cried Aragorn.

The Rohirrim exchanged confused glances; in the sudden silence one of the men raised his voice timidly.

"Pardon?"

On the plain below the now-dead Uruk-hai facepalmed heavily to the ground; the other orcs were understandably pissed, and began growling and foaming at the mouth with anger. Their leader raised his scimitar and gave a third cry. This time the army began to charge towards the wall of Helm's Deep with all due speed.

"Oh shit," said Théoden.

Elsewhere Aragorn was yelling orders again: "_Tangado halad!_" he cried. "Prepare to fire!"

One of the Rohirrim defenders raised a hand.

"Seriously, what? Speak Westron please!"

Aragorn ignored this extra, however, and watched as the elven archers readied their bows with many an arrow. After a hard slap to the head he also forced Legolas to cast aside his umbrella and ready an arrow with a pout.

"These bitches are going to pay," Legolas moaned to the elf beside him. "They'll rue the day they ever made me get my hair wet!"

The next moment Aragorn reared back his sword and gestured to the row of elven archers waiting below and behind him.

"_Leithio i philinn!_" he cried. "Release arrows!"

A merciless volley of arrows was released, scything through the air above the battlements and slamming into the advancing Uruk-hai. Many an orc fell down dead in its tracks, as did a couple of the Rohirrim defenders. Seriously, the trajectory of their arrows was just asking for it.

Still struggling to see over the battlements, Gimli asked desperately: "Did they hit anything?"

Haldir notched another arrow to his bow.

"Well duh."

On the wall above the nearby Keep, Théoden was feeling upstaged by a certain young ranger. He turned to Gamling and said: "Give them a volley."

There was a pause as all was made ready, and then something round and bright flew over the wall and bonked an Uruk upon the head. The orc promptly toppled over dead.

Théoden put a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

"I said volley, not volleyball!" he cried. "Fire some bloody arrows at them!" And so the Rohirrim notched their own bows and released a sleuth of arrows, all two hundred and fifty of which completely missed their targets.

Théoden rolled his eyes.

"I'm going back to my trailer!" he muttered. And he left the battle in a huff. Gamling dashed after him.

Meanwhile, the Uruk-hai began to send up ladders to scale the walls of the fortress. At Aragorn's command the Elves drew their snazzy curved swords; all hell broke loose as the two sides met with much hacking and slashing.

"Legolas," yelled Gimli from amidst the fighting. "Two already!"

"I'm on seventeen!" cried the elf.

Gimli pouted and proceeded to bring an enemy down with a blow to the groin. That Uruk would never have kids.

Legolas fired two more arrows in quick succession.

"Nineteen!" he taunted.

"Yes, well." Gimli twirled his axe around and brought down another Uruk-hai with a sickening thud. "We'll soon see about that, laddie! Have you not heard of the legendary body count of the dwarves…?"

Legolas rolled his eyes and just continued to slaughter the Uruk-hai around him.

"Bring on the dwarf tossing, I say."


	28. Joke Warfare

_Over here in jolly old England it's the 40__th__ anniversary of Monty Python, so the shows have been playing non-stop lately. And you might just be able to tell that I've been watching them all again!_

_I've also just posted another LOTR fic on my profile, so I felt that I should slip a shameless plug for it into this note :D I never would have begun posting it if it wasn't for the wonderful support I've gotten for this fic, so thank you all so much. Now I just need to work out a way to balance my updating of the two… _

**XX****X**

"And let's face it," Treebeard was saying, "as wars go, this is the big one, so we've got to get up off our arses and stop just talking about it…"

Entmoot was still in progress in the depths of Fangorn Forest, and Merry had a tiny feeling that the conversation was just going around in circles. He waited impatiently nearby as the Ents put their heads together and deliberated, murmuring their agreement to Treebeard's words.

"Hear, hear!" cried one Ent.

"I agree," said another, made of ash. "It's action that counts, not words, and we need action now."

"Hear, hear!"

"You're right." Another Ent, a beech, nodded furiously. "We could sit around here all day talking, passing resolutions, making clever speeches, it's not going to shift one orc."

"So let's just stop gabbing on about it," announced Treebeard. "It's completely pointless, and it's getting us nowhere."

"Right," said everyone.

There was a pause.

"I agree," said the ash. "This is a complete waste of time-"

"Excuse me!" The Ents turned to face Merry, who was standing there, bristling with anger. Treebeard stepped forward and bent down a little to listen to the hobbit. "Enough with the tangential discussion!" complained Merry. "What about Saruman? Have you come to a decision about _him_?"

"Right," said the beech. Then he paused and asked: "Who is he then?"

Merry rolled his eyes. Behind him Pippin was nestled beneath a tree and snoring loudly.

"He's the White Wizard!" Merry cried. "You know, the dude with the staff and the white wizards' robes? The guy who has been plundering and burning this very forest? The main villain of this ridiculously unfaithful second installment?"

"Really?" said the beech in surprise. The Ent promptly turned back to the others and rejoined the huddle. "Right. This calls for immediate discussion!"

"What?" Merry stood there aghast. But none of the Ents bothered to turn around again.

"Immediate," said one.

"Right."

There was a pause.

"New motion?" asked the ash.

"Completely new motion," said the beech, nodding furiously. "Eh, that, ah… That there be, ah, immediate action..." One of the other Ents was noting down his words as he spoke.

Treebeard shook his head.

"…once the vote has been taken."

"Well, obviously once the vote has been taken!" agreed the beech. "You can't act on a resolution 'till you've voted on it…"

Merry just wandered back to where Pippin was sleeping and plonked himself down upon the forest floor with a sigh. Wearily he put his head in his hands and listened blankly to the redundant discussion going on from the Entmoot nearby.

"I should really fire my agent…" he muttered.

**XX****X**

Back at Helm's Deep, Gimli was busy hacking away at the Uruk-hai as they came streaming up their ladders and onto the walls of the fortress.

"Seventeen!" he cried as he worked. "Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty war widows!"

Meanwhile, Théoden had returned from his trailer. He soon noticed that some of the Uruk-hai were throwing down their spears and unfurling pieces of folded paper, running blindly towards the Deeping Wall as they attempted to read out loud in their clearest voices.

"_Wenn ist das Nunstruck git und_ _Slotermeyer_?" they yelled at the Rohirrim. "_Ja! Beiherhund das Oder die Flipperwaldt gersput!_"

A couple of the more Nordically-inclined Rohirrim burst into hysterical laughter and fell from the wall to their deaths at this killer joke, but most of the others just stood there, exchanging confused shrugs and glances.

"You idiots!" yelled one of the Rohirrim. "We don't speak German! What is with the rampant bilingualism in this movie?"

It was just a diversion, however, as a huge battalion of Uruk-hai had formed into a tortoise formation and were currently marching up the causeway towards the gates of Helm's Deep. They held their shields above their heads and at their sides to protect them from falling arrows.

"_Na fennas!_" yelled Aragorn, which roughly translated to 'blast their asses!'

The row of elven archers beside him all turned in perfect synchronisation and loosed their arrows. Some of the orcs fell with arrows in their chests, but all in all the formation held and continued advancing upon the gates. A smug-looking Théoden shook his head with quiet laughter; obviously he was watching a different battle to the rest of the audience.

"Is this it?" he said with glee. "Is this all you can conjure, Saruman?"

Evidently it was not. From amidst the masses of Uruk-hai upon the plain there now appeared a pair of orcs carrying a wicked-looking spiked contraption. Both were wearing ridiculous helmets that made them look like homosexual firemen. The creatures hurried towards the culvert in the Deeping Wall – remember that? – and shoved the spiked contraption inside the gap. A few more orcs followed with similar items. It was like a very evil game of Tetris.

Very soon they had completed their task, and the army of Uruk-hai stood aside to open a narrow path towards the culvert. Down the line of orcs there came running an Uruk-hai carrying the Olympic torch. The others excitedly cheered him on.

On the battlements above, Aragorn noticed this suicidal orc approaching.

"_Togo hon dad, Legolas!_" yelled the ranger. "Bring him down, Legolas!"

Legolas, who was hiding under his umbrella in an attempt to keep his hair dry, scrambled to his feet and quickly prepared to fire. The next moment an umbrella adorned with flying toasters went sailing over the wall and impaled an Uruk through the eye. The creature started dancing around and screaming like sissy before it promptly keeled over and died.

Aragorn growled.

"Shoot your bow, not your umbrella, you twit!"

The elf grinned sheepishly and took up his bow instead, reaching back into his rain-soaked quiver and releasing a fresh sleuth of arrows. But none of his arrows managed to take the Uruk-hai down, although they did provide it with a few new surface piercings.

"Legolas!" yelled Aragorn. "Whatever happened to your super special heat-seeking arrows?"

The elf shrugged.

"Haven't a clue. But at least this gives the fangirls an excuse to write angst fics about me."

Aragorn couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"As if they need _another _reason…"

The ranger never finished this thought, however, as the Uruk-hai won one for his country and proceeded to dive into the culvert with one last effort. The next moment there was a muted roar, and suddenly the Deeping Wall was ripped apart by a huge explosion.

Legolas lowered his bow with a grin.

"Oops."

An avalanche of rocks and bodies were thrown into the air with an immense roar. Aragorn was hurled off his feet by the explosion and landed in a heap upon the rain-soaked ground, knocked completely unconscious. The excited giggles of fangirls could be heard in the distance. Down in the Glittering Caves, the women and children glanced up in horror at the noise of the blast. Gimli was also knocked off his feet and groaned under a deluge of falling rocks, but the fangirls just ignored him.

From the safety of the Keep, Théoden watched in shock at the devastation unfolding below (although he was slightly relieved that that cocky ranger had been taken out of action for the moment. Bloody youth). Despite struggling in the stagnant water that now poured out of the breach in the Deeping Wall, the Uruk-hai began to stream into the ravine behind the fortress. To make matters worse, upon the causeway the orcs had lowered their shields and produced a huge battering ram from somewhere within their formation to try and penetrate the gate. The phallic imagery was not lost on anyone.

"Brace the gate!" yelled Théoden to his men below, bracing his disgust. "Hold them! Stand firm!"

A stream of extras ran down towards the gate and hurled themselves desperately against it, but with every blow of the battering ram the gate shook dreadfully upon its hinges. From above the Rohirrim and a couple of suspiciously-familiar extras rained down a barrage of rocks and arrows but to no avail. The Uruk-hai just kept on bashing at the door.

Below, the army came streaming in through the breech in the Deeping Wall. Aragorn slowly awakened where he was lying face down in the mud. Groggily he turned his head and saw the orcs swarming towards him. He was right in their path.

"Oh bugger."

Gimli noticed his friend's predicament as well, and duly clambered to his feet, took up his axe and leapt down from the shattered wall right into the advancing Uruk-hai with a cry. It was a wonder he was not impaled upon their spears.

"Gimli!" cried Aragorn, scrambling to his feet. "Stop with the heroics, will you? I'm not even that badly injured. Besides, you're meant to be in the bloody Caves!" The dwarf just ignored him, however, and was soon overwhelmed and knocked to the ground. Aragorn turned to the elves behind him and cried: "_Hado i philinn!_"

And again the elves blasted the Uruk-hai's asses with a barrage of arrows. Aragorn then raised his sword and assumed a ridiculously sexy battle position.

"_Herio!_" he yelled. "Charge!"

And strangely enough the Elves took up their weapons and actually charged after the ranger. With many a battle cry the contingent slammed into the approaching Uruk-hai and proceeded to give them hell. Aragorn quickly slaughtered the orcs before him as more fangirls swooned in the distance.

Legolas was still fighting upon the devastated battlements, and he pouted when he saw his friends were upstaging him with their heroics. Quickly the elf grabbed a discarded shield and sent it clattering across the wall. Then he ran after it and hopped on board, releasing a sleuth of arrows as he surfed down a convenient flight of steps towards the ground. When he reached the bottom the elf sent the shield flying into the chest of one of the Uruk-hai, impaling the creature in one swift motion.

Grinning, Legolas landed smoothly on his feet after his spot of glamourised violence. Any remaining fangirls in the area were now comatose as Aragorn pulled a bedraggled Gimli out of the water by the Deeping Wall and dragged the dwarf to safety. Legolas knifed another Uruk-hai as an exhausted and ragged-looking Aragorn slogged through the deluge of mud and bodies towards the camera.

"And now for something completely different…" he said breathlessly.

**XX****X**

Night had fallen in Fangorn Forest. Treebeard and the other Ents were deep in discussion, whilst Merry and Pippin (who had just woken up) stood around beneath the trees, rolling their eyes at the overabundance of Monty Python references in this chapter.

"All right," Treebeard was saying, "but apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?"

"Enough!" cried Merry, stomping his foot upon the ground. "If you start waxing poetic about your parrot pining for the fjords, I swear I am going to take a handful of termites and shove them straight up your-" He paused, and furrowed his brows in confusion. "Wait a second. Where do you shove things up a tree?

Pippin gave a shrug beside him. As the hobbit spoke Treebeard had turned around and left the other Ents to their musings.

"The Ents cannot hold back this storm," explained Treebeard, ducking down to speak to the hobbits at their level. "We must weather such things as we have always done."

"Translation: boring."

The Ent shook his head.

"This is not our war," said Treebeard.

"Well, yes," Merry conceded. "But we need to do _something_ substantial in this movie." The Ents seemed troubled as they exchanged glances with one another. "You must help," he urged them. "Please! You must do something!"

Treebeard simply shook his head.

"You are young and brave, Master Merry. But your part in this tale is over. Go back to your home."

The hobbit rolled his eyes.

"Pfft, you obviously haven't read the book. Ever heard of the Pelennor Fields?"

But Treebeard was not interested in the finer plot details of the original book, and Merry soon turned away, defeated, to put his jacket back on in despair. Pippin approached him as he stood there quietly, lost in his thoughts.

"Maybe Treebeard's right," said Pippin. "We don't belong here, Merry. It's too big for us. Let's call a cab and go back to the Shire. I wanna catch up on my soap operas."

Merry stared forlornly into the trees.

"The fires of Isengard will spread," he murmured melodramatically. "And the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. And all that was once green and good in this world will be gone." He turned back to Pippin and put a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "There won't be a Shire, Pippin."

And Merry turned and walked away in a sulk. Pippin gave a frown as he mulled over these words.

"I thought Jackson cut the Scouring of the Shire?"

**XX****X**

Meanwhile, the Uruk-hai had begun to overwhelm the soldiers fighting in the ravine at Helm's Deep. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stood their ground and led the defences, but they were quickly being outnumbered.

Soon another Uruk-hai approached Legolas with his scimitar raised. The elf just stared him down and growled menacingly: "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Gimli rolled his eyes nearby.

"Would you _please_ stop saying that?

The Uruk-hai just kept swarming into the ravine and scaling the battlements like cockroaches. From above Théoden yelled down to the defenders fighting far below: "Aragorn! Fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!"

How the ranger heard his words above the sounds of battle was anyone's guess. But apparently he did so, because Aragorn paused amidst slaughtering orcs for a moment to give orders to the elves fighting around him.

"_Na Barad! Na Baraad!_" he cried. "To the Keep! Pull back to the Keep!" The ranger looked all about him, watching the men fleeing to safety. He promptly killed another orc and then looked up towards the battlements. Haldir was busy slaying an Uruk as it came up one of the remaining ladders. The ranger called to the elf to pull back too.

"Why the hell are you ordering _me_ about?" cried Haldir in reply. "I thought I was commanding this battalion?" But Aragorn did not venture an explanation. Haldir rolled his eyes, his sword covered in blood, and then turned and started gesturing to his men to follow the others, even as a protesting Gimli was dragged away from battle by Legolas and a random extra.

But something happened then that Tolkien did not intend, for as Haldir was directing his fellow elves to safety he was suddenly stabbed in the side by an approaching Uruk-hai. With a cry he ran his sword through the creature with some difficulty, but another came at him from behind and plunged its scimitar into his back.

Aragorn saw him fall and cried out in despair: "Haldir!"

But Haldir did not reply, what with being busy dying and all. And so Aragorn battled several orcs in quick succession and ran over to catch the elf as he fell backwards. Haldir's glassy eyes simply stared straight up at him.

The ranger bowed his head in grief, placing a gentle hand upon the elf's chest. Then he lowered Haldir to the ground, feeling anger coursing through his veins as he stood up and prepared to smash his fist into the head of a nearby Uruk and-

"Excuse me," said Haldir, sounding thoroughly affronted. "I'm not dead, you know."

"What?" Aragorn turned around with a start. Haldir lay there on the ground before him, arms folded in a huff. Blood was pooling out from the gaping wound in his back.

"I'm not dead," repeated the elf. "Just mortally wounded. So would you mind not leaving me here on the blood-splattered ground with all of the corpses, huh? It's terribly rude."

Aragorn knelt down beside him.

"But I thought you were dead!" protested the ranger. "The author just described you as having 'glassy eyes'."

"Yes, well." Haldir gave a snort. "That could have meant anything."

"But you were dead!" protested Aragorn. "You were no more! You had ceased to be! You'd expired and gone to meet your maker. You were a stiff! Bereft of life-"

"We'll be having none of that!" cried Merry, who suddenly came barging onto the set. At a word from Peter Jackson, somebody shut off the fake rain; a clapper board was brought in front of the camera, and a number of the crew wandered off to take a lunch break. "None of that!" Merry said again. "Didn't I warn you about the Monty Python references? Didn't I tell you not to start quoting a certain sketch about an ex-parrot?"

Haldir frowned and pushed himself up onto his elbows; Aragorn sheathed his sword and shook his head.

"But what about you?" he asked the hobbit, waving a hand at him. "You're referencing Monty Python right now! What with the constant complaints and the shutting down of our scene…"

"Nonsense." Merry went a bright shade of red. "I am merely pointing out the obvious."

"Whatever," said Haldir.

Merry scowled down at him.

"Shut up you. You're supposed to be dead anyways."

"Am not."

"Look, do you not have somewhere else to be?" asked Aragorn despairingly. "I thought you had that boring scene with Treebeard to be getting on with…"

Merry replied angrily: "At least _I_ don't have to endure night shoots."

Aragorn smiled knowingly.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I don't want to keep you away from your Entmoo thing…"

"It's Entmoot!" cried Merry in indignation.

"Right." The ranger brushed past him with a smirk upon his face. "Excuse me whilst I go do my own stunts in this epic battle scene which will go down in cinematic history…"

As the ranger strutted away, along with an obviously-not-dead Haldir, Merry jabbed an angry finger towards the image of Helm's Deep in the distance.

"It's only a model, you know!"

**XX****X**

Once production on the film had been kick-started again, the extras hurled themselves violently against the gate of the fortress with much enthusiasm. They were still withstanding the battering ram assault from outside, but the defences could not last forever.

Soon Théoden came running up, with a reluctant Gamling close behind. Seeing his men's distress Théoden unsheathed his sword and began to yell orders at the top of his voice.

"Hold them, hold them!" he cried in panic. "It's the Jehovah's Witnesses! Everybody: all together!"

And the Rohirrim all raised their voices in unison and roared: "_GO_ _AWAY_!"

But it was to no avail, for soon the gate began to buckle and splinter. Seizing their opportunity the Uruk-hai outside brandished crude bows and released arrow after arrow into the crowd of Rohirrim. Many fell with an arrow in their chest, but some released arrows of their own and killed a few of the Uruk-hai hacking at the broken gate and fighting to pass them. Arrows, arrows, arrows.

Théoden soon got stuck into the fighting, but somehow received a lance to the shoulder in record time. Luckily the blow was blocked by his armour, and he managed to stab the offending Uruk-hai through the neck before being led away by a trembling Gamling.

"Well," said Gamling with a weak smile. "That was a sporting effort, wasn't it, sire? I don't think anyone would begrudge you a short break from battle for a while…"

Théoden just glared at his soldier. Gamling was spared from a tongue lashing, however, when Aragorn and Gimli came running up to help them. Théoden took his sword back from Gamling with a look of disdain. Meanwhile Aragorn proceeded to hack and stab at several Uruk-hai who had broken through the defences; his own sword was covered in black blood.

"Aragorn!" cried Théoden over the sounds of battle. "Come here a second…" And Théoden quickly pulled the ranger aside and pointed to a nearby door. "I had this side entrance installed a few years ago so that I could escape the in-laws. Be a dear and pop out to kill some Uruk-hai, would you?"

Aragorn's face fell.

"You know, in the history of bright ideas that ranks somewhere just below casting Stuart Townsend in this movie..."

And the ranger grabbed Gimli and stormed off to go do further battle.


	29. Of Rope Burn and Cold Showers

_Damn, I thought this would be the last part of The Two Towers I had to post, but there was so much action left I had to split it into two chapters. I am thwarted once again! But the Return of the King is just upon the horizon…_

_I also wanted to thank the reader who nominated this fic in the Golden Quill Awards recently. Unfortunately, since this story is not yet complete it did not qualify for the competition, but I really appreciate the gesture ^_^ It's the first time I've been nominated for a fanfic award and I was very flattered, especially since I am pretty clueless when it comes to award communities in this fandom!_

**XX****X**

As the battle continued to rage on outside Aragorn and Gimli were inexplicably able to sneak out of the side door unnoticed by all. Quietly they closed it behind them and peered around the wall towards the causeway below; it was swarming with Uruk-hai, still intent upon bashing down the door and forcing their religious pamphlets upon the Rohirrim inside.

Gimli studied the orcs for a moment and then turned back to the ranger excitedly.

"I have a cunning plan," he murmured, tapping his nose conspiratorially.

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"This cunning plan wouldn't happen to involve dwarf tossing, would it?"

"Of course." The dwarf puffed out his chest. "I've been waiting for this scene since the Council of Elrond. This is my moment!"

Aragorn leant back against the wall and sighed heavily.

"Fine then," he muttered. "But promise me you will dispatch Legolas at some point and make it look like an accident…"

"Deal."

And the two shook on it. Then Aragorn grabbed the dwarf by the scruff of his neck and flung him towards the causeway below. With a sexy cry, the ranger leapt across after him. Soon the two were battling in back-to-back tandem, and making short work of the CGI Uruk-hai which continued to swarm up the causeway towards the gate.

On the other side, the Rohirrim were still busy attempting to shore up the gate as Théoden yelled pointless orders at them, mostly to the effect of 'hmm, you see that huge gaping hole over there? Maybe you wanna patch that up, huh?' A group of soldiers rolled their eyes and hurried forward at his words, carrying with them a huge plank of wood; Théoden directed them where to brace it against the gate, with seemingly no intention of actually bothering to do battle himself (much to Gamling's relief).

On the plain below the Uruk-hai were busy loading enormous hooks onto their war machines; with a shrill whistling they flew over the battlements of the fortress and latched themselves against the walls. The defenders rushed over to try and somehow dislodge them with their bare hands, even as the Uruk-hai hauled upon the ropes and lifted huge ladders loaded with orcs up into the air and towards the battlements. They promptly latched onto the walls with tight steel grips.

Legolas, who felt as though he wasn't getting enough screen time in this scene, noticed the ladders being hoisted up and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Quickly he aimed with his bow and severed one of the support ropes; the ladder attached to this enormous hook came unbalanced and toppled backwards into the swarm of Uruk-hai below. There was many a girlish squeal as dozens of orcs were crushed under its weight.

Legolas gave a smug smile.

"Who says that I am useless?"

Below, the soldiers trying to hold the gate were fighting a losing battle, and Théoden soon stuck his head out of the gaping hole in the shattered gate and gave Aragorn and Gimli a huge grin as they continued to battle the swarm of Uruk-hai upon the doorstep.

"Um yeah, patch job's all done now. You wanna get your asses back inside now, _kthanx_?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes as he ran his sword through another orc.

"Now you tell us…"

And the ranger was just about to slip back somehow unnoticed through the side door when, unsurprisingly, he was prevented from doing so by a particularly huge Uruk-hai which seized him and Gimli about the neck. Much to the fangirls' disappointment, however, Aragorn quickly slipped from the orcs' grip (Gimli did too, but they didn't care about that). From above Legolas suddenly appeared at the top of the battlements above the gate.

"Aragorn!" he yelled. "Here is some rope!" And the elf threw down a length of rope towards the dwarf and the ranger below. The only problem being that he did not bother to keep hold of the end of it. The entire coil of rope simply slumped down uselessly at their feet.

Aragorn looked up wearily towards the elf.

"Legolas, were you ever dropped upon the head as a child?"

The elf pouted.

"What is with the constant digs at my father? Where did everyone get this idea I was abused as a child? Is it the way I dress or something?"

Aragorn took up the rope, slipped the coil about his shoulder and proceeded to spin it round and round his head like a lasso.

"Legolas, it is called fanfic. It doesn't need to make sense, you know."

And just at that moment Boromir came strolling by with a surfboard under his arm. Gimli gave him a cheery wave as the ranger flung the rope back up towards Legolas upon the battlements. Soon the elf had secured it and was hauling the two up the wall with the assistance of an invisible Arwen.

All around, more and more hooks were launched towards the battlements of Helm's Deep. One soldier was hilariously impaled and thrown back against a wall as Aragorn and Gimli were slowly hauled up towards the battlements. With Herculean strength, Legolas finally grabbed Aragorn's hand and pulled his companions over the top of the battlements. Soon they clambered over the wall and found themselves safely on solid ground again. The elf did not celebrate, however, as he began to dance about, waving his hands frantically.

"Rope burn!" he cried, blowing desperately on his hands. "Sweet zombie Jesus, it hurts!"

Aragorn just folded his arms without sympathy.

"What did you think was going to happen, you twonk? You just hauled a fully-armoured man and Gimli up a wall."

And the ranger took up his blood-stained sword and hurried after the other defenders, who were pulling back to the Keep with all due cowardice (much to Gamling's delight). Below them the Uruk-hai finally burst through the gate, rendering Aragorn and Gimli's efforts completely useless. Legolas simply stood there, his hands still throbbing painfully. Gimli approached and placed a friendly hand upon the elf's shoulder.

"Thank you, Legolas," he said cheerily. "Put 'er there." And the dwarf slapped the elf an enthusiastic high five.

The resulting scream was heard in Valinor, where many of the elves looked up and exchanged worried glances, getting increasingly freaked out by all the screaming they kept hearing from the neighbours.

**XX****X**

Elsewhere, Treebeard continued on with his eternal walk through the forest, carrying an increasingly suicidal Merry and Pippin with him. They had been utterly thwarted in their attempts to squeeze anything of worth out of the Ents in the last half hour of this movie, and were now both thinking hard about claiming compensation for the fertility problems which were sure to follow their time upon this animatronic.

"I will leave you at the western borders of the forest," Treebeard told the hobbits. "You can make your way north to your homeland from there."

"Lazy bugger," muttered Merry. "Why can't you take us the whole way? It's not like you have anything else to do…"

Beside him, Pippin suddenly realised something and cried out: "Wait! Stop! Stop!" Treebeard duly came to a halt. "Thanks so much," said Pippin, slipping down from the Ent's shoulder. "I really need to make a pit stop…"

Merry gave a sigh as his friend disappeared into the surrounding trees, and then removed the pencil from behind his ear and went back to his crossword. He chewed on the rubber end thoughtfully for a moment and then asked aloud: "Can you think of a nine-letter word, usually appearing at the climax of a joke or comedy scene?"

Treebeard tapped his chin with a few spindly fingers and thought for a bit.

"Punchline, is it?"

Merry nodded and jotted it down.

"That's the one…"

**XX****X**

Again with the tiresome cutaways, as a protesting Sam, Frodo and Gollum were being marched unwillingly towards Osgiliath. Smoke rose in the distance from the ruined Gondorian city as they reached the crest of a grassy ridge.

"Why do we have to go to this stupid place anyways?" Sam was moaning. "My feet hurt, all this fresh air is making my wig move, and I don't know how much longer I can complain…"

Frodo turned and gave the hobbit a questioning look.

"Do you wear wigs?"

Up ahead Faramir rolled his eyes and then turned on his heel and marched back to go and give the hobbits a metaphorical kick up the ass (as well as a literal one). The other rangers paused in their tracks as there was a couple of thuds and a yelp.

"We're all being short-changed in this movie," Faramir said exasperatedly. "Me, especially, what with the whole evil persona and lack of any sexual release, so would you kindly please stop bitching and just hurry up? You've barely done anything of worth in this movie and all I keep hearing is bitch this and moan that…"

Frodo rubbed his backside with a frown.

"Dude, don't moan to me about a lack of sexual release! The most I get to do in this bloody trilogy is kiss Sam on the forehead! And then only in a very manly way. For Eru's sake, I'm going to sail away to the Grey Havens and remain a virgin forever!"

Despite himself, Faramir could not help but nod along in agreement.

"Tell me about it," he muttered. "You know whose fault all this is? That bloody Aragorn. He's got all these women throwing themselves at his feet, and there's none left for the rest of us! I mean, there's what? Maybe four females of note in this movie, and two of _them _are already taken. No wonder the men of this world are always waging constant war…"

And so the men, the hobbits and Gollum all continued on towards Osgiliath without another word, feeling very much in need of a cold shower.

**XX****X**

In terms of screen time it wasn't long before Treebeard, Merry and Pippin had reached the southern edge of Fangorn Forest. To the hobbits, however, it felt like a lifetime.

Treebeard was rattling off another painfully boring tale when he stopped short and fell silent; the trees suddenly thinned out to reveal a devastated landscape scattered with the stumps of felled trees. They had reached the outer edge of Fangorn, and Isengard was visible just across the plain. The tower of Orthanc rose before them like a smoking chimney.

"Many of these trees were my friends," said Treebeard quietly. "Creatures I had known from nut and acorn…"

Pippin frowned sadly: "I'm sorry, Treebeard."

"I'm not," muttered Merry beside him, his arms folded.

Tears were starting in Treebeard's eyes as he spoke: "They had voices of their own…" Absently his gaze trailed towards Isengard. "Saruman!" Treebeard growled suddenly. "A wizard should know better!"

And the Ent threw back his head and let out a furious roar which echoed throughout the forest for miles around. Merry winced upon his shoulder and put a hand to his head in obvious pain.

"Dude, do you mind?" he protested. "You just yelled right in my bloody ear! Talk about rude…"

Treebeard just shook his leafy head, apparently oblivious to the hobbit's now-shattered ear drums: "There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of men for this treachery," he growled. "At least not in a PG-13. My business is with Isengard tonight, with rock and stone!"

A series of unearthly howls came from the trees behind them. The hobbits turned to see a host of Ents suddenly emerging from the forest, marching determinedly towards them and pausing in line behind Treebeard. How they had gotten there in such a short space of time nobody bothered to explain.

Orchestral music began to swell around them as Treebeard fixed his murderous gaze upon Isengard: "Hoorarooom," he growled. "Come, my friends. The Ents are going to war. It is likely that we go to our doom… The last march of the Ents!"

Merry rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's to be hoped," he muttered. "At least it'll give us something interesting to do in this movie, eh Pippin?"

Beside him his fellow hobbit stared blankly ahead in horror.

"I think I've lost the will to live…"

And so the Ents, Treebeard at their head, marched across the devastated landscape towards Isengard along with two psychologically-scarred hobbits. There was much creaking of tree limbs and dramatic music as they went; Pippin glanced around and rubbed thoughtfully at his chin.

"Hmm, this whole setup seems somehow familiar …"

Merry nodded beside him.

"That's because Tolkien took it from the 'Scottish Play'."

Pippin thought about this for a moment, and then turned to his friend with a frown: "By the 'Scottish Play', I assume you mean _Macbeth_?"

Merry slapped himself in the forehead.

"I was avoiding mentioning the name of the 'Scottish Play' because to do so brings bad luck, you tit."

"What's that?" Pippin asked.

Merry rolled his eyes.

"Being but a mere hobbit, you will not know the great theatre tradition that one does _never_ speak the name of the 'Scottish Play'."

"What, _Macbeth_?"

Merry put his face in his hands.

"Ugh, never mind. We're all doomed to be typecast as hobbits forever anyways."

**XX****X**

Osgiliath was heavily under siege as Faramir and his rangers steered Gollum and the two hobbits amongst the ruins of the war-torn city. Soldiers stormed in all directions, brandishing spears and dodging missiles sent flying by orcs from across the river. All in all, it was probably the stupidest place in the world to take a hobbit brandishing the Ring of Power.

Somehow, Madril had beaten the company to Osgiliath without any decent explanation. He looked worried as Faramir and his rangers approached: "Orcs have taken the eastern shore," he told them. "Their numbers are too great. By nightfall we'll be overrun."

Faramir frowned.

"Bugger."

Next to him, Frodo looked to be in a very bad way. Sam turned and gave him an anxious look: "Mr. Frodo?"

The hobbit just continued to shake like a sissy.

"It's calling to him, Sam," he said melodramatically. "His Eye is almost on me."

Sam held his eyes and spoke calming words, but Frodo could not hear them; the noise of the world around him seemed to fade out for a moment. Undaunted, Sam clicked his fingers in front of the hobbit's face.

"Hello? Earth to Frodo?"

Faramir eyed the two hobbits with one eyebrow raised. Then he turned back to Madril and said: "Take them to my father. Tell him Faramir sends a mighty gift - a weapon that will change our fortunes in this war."

"A couple of midgets?" Madril asked in disbelief. "This is your secret weapon?" Faramir gave a nod, and the soldiers gathered around him exchanged anxious glances. Thoughts of desertion flashed through their minds. Nevertheless, they began to lead the hobbits away. Sam tried to brush away the firm hands upon his shoulders.

"Do you want to know what happened to Boromir?" he yelled back at Faramir. "You want to know why your brother died?" Faramir turned back to him in interest, but then Sam stopped short as he realised he had no bloody clue why or even how Boromir had died. He closed his mouth again, frowned and snatched a look at Frodo. "Well, I buggered that one up, didn't I?"

Faramir stood there with a dumb look upon his face, but there was no chance for him to give an answer; a rock was suddenly catapulted into a tower above them. They all looked up in shock as it crumbled, whilst Frodo's eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he became apparently possessed.

Sam gave him a queer look: "Mr. Frodo? Are you high or something?"

"They're here," Frodo said in a faraway voice. "They've come."

A fell shriek rent the air above them. Faramir and his men looked up towards the sky.

"Nazgûl!" Faramir cried. His soldiers all stared at him a moment, uncomprehending. The ranger rolled his eyes and cast about. "Um, Ringwraiths? Black Riders? Geez, try cracking a book sometime…"

As if to illustrate to the casual audience what on earth he was talking about, the scene suddenly shifted to the sky to show the Nazgûl upon his Fell Beast swooping down over the smoking city. Down below Faramir grabbed Frodo by his cloak and quickly thrust him into a more-or-less safe corner amongst the ruined buildings; Sam and Gollum followed behind.

"Do us a favour," said Faramir in a firm voice. "I know it's difficult for you but, please, stay here and try not to do anything stupid…"

**XX****X**

Back at Helm's Deep, the battlements of the Hornburg were overrun with Uruk-hai, who started up the stairs towards the Keep as banners bearing the White Hand were hoisted up onto the many flag posts. Ignoring all of the food stockpiled outside, the Uruk-hai instead began ramming the doors of the Keep and demanding entrance and religious toleration.

Inside, the defenders were desperately trying to barricade the entrance with more random pieces of wood that they had just happened to find lying around in a fortress of war; Théoden was grinning from ear-to-ear as he contemplated the gruesome death he was certainly soon to endure, whilst beside him Gamling stood quaking in his boots. Aragorn and Legolas were busy helping the Rohirrim to barricade the doors. Théoden shook his head in resignation as he watched their efforts.

"The fortress is taken," he insisted. "It is over." He paused and gave a smile. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Aragorn marched over with a scowl upon his face.

"This is all your fault, you know!" the ranger cried. "If you hadn't bloody jinxed us all before this battle even started then we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Yes, well." Théoden puffed out his chest. "I'm going to die in this story, anyways. Best not to drag it out."

Aragorn rolled his eyes.

"Whatever happened to your survival instincts?"

In the Glittering Caves somewhere below, the women and children looked around with stereotypical fear as the Uruk-hai continued to batter the doors down. Éowyn stood there with an awkward expression upon her face as Morwen cried hysterically and clung to her in terror. Apparently she had forgotten all about her children.

"Again with the lack of positive female role models in this movie…" Éowyn muttered to herself, patting Morwen upon the back with apathy.

Up above in the Keep Aragorn stood there, casting around desperately.

"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" he asked aloud. Nobody answered for a moment. "Is there no other way? A little help would be nice, _kthanx_."

A morose Gamling nodded and gestured absently down the hall.

"There is one passage," he said. "It leads into the mountains…" He took a cautious step backwards, with one hand upon his sword. "I could show you the way if you like?"

Aragorn shook his head as he turned and gave Théoden a queer look; the king was bouncing back and forth upon his heels with glee.

"That won't be necessary, Gamling," Aragorn said. "Just send word that-" The ranger trailed off into silence as he turned his gaze back again; Gamling was gone. Nothing but a thin silhouette of dust remained where the soldier had once stood, and the sound of pounding footsteps could be heard fading down the corridor. A weak yelp dissipated in the air.

Aragorn snatched a look with Gimli, who was hovering nearby.

"What was that you were saying about us all being royally screwed?"

The dwarf gave a small shrug. In the background of the scene the defenders were still struggling to hold the doors against the Uruk-hai and their battering ram. Loud booms echoed through the chamber.

"So much death," Théoden murmured emptily. "What can men do against such reckless hate? The darkness is falling around us; it beckons us on to our doom. Alas, the shadow! The shadow is approaching! I-"

"Oh, fuck off," Aragorn growled, nursing the beginnings of a migraine. "Enough with the bloody soliloquies already! We get your point."

Again, the doors of the Keep shook worryingly upon their hinges. They all fell silent as they considered their impending doom; Legolas whistled cheerily as he hoisted a table from the floor and hauled it over to help barricade the door.

Eventually, Aragorn turned to Théoden with a heavy sigh.

"Fine then," he conceded. "I guess we are just going to have to go with your emo strategy. Ride out with me. Ride out and meet them."

Théoden's eyes widened.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

Aragorn gave another sigh.

"Yes, death and glory and all that. Let's go get slaughtered, _m'kay_?" He gestured towards the doors. "We can send Legolas ahead as a scout party…"

The elf heard his name and beamed over at them.

"I'm being useful!" he enthused.

A beeping suddenly echoed in the chamber; Gimli looked down at his watch, and then quietly nodded towards the window: "The sun is rising."

Aragorn turned in the direction the dwarf indicated; conveniently enough, a shaft of sunlight was beginning to stream through the window at that moment to illustrate his point. He recalled an earlier conversation relevant to this moment: "'_Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East…' 'On the fifth day of what? Lent?'"_

"Oh yeah," Aragorn muttered to himself. "I forgot about Gandalf…"

Gimli frowned.

"Gandalf? Which one is he again?"

Beside them Théoden broke into a smile.

"Fuck yes!" he cried, pacing excitedly. "Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!"

Gimli frowned in the background and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

"Does this mean that I have to go run up a bunch of steps?"

Théoden nodded.

"Afraid so." He thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, we _do _have a stairlift…"

And so Gimli rushed off to the spiral staircase which wound up towards the summit of the fortress tower; sure enough, there at its base sat a working stairlift. He promptly settled himself in it and pushed down upon the button. The seat slowly creaked into life and started up the stairs with a mechanical whirring.

Théoden reached out and put a hand upon Aragorn's shoulder. In the background the stairlift juddered to a smoking halt, and Gimli wrestled for a moment with the controls in frustration. Eventually he gave up and took the stairs.

"Let this be the hour when we draw swords together," said Théoden with gusto. "Screw Éomer."

Aragorn smiled in determination. The next moment it was assumed that they had mounted their horses. Théoden donned his ridiculous helmet as the door of the Keep continued to shake upon its hinges before them.

"Fell deeds awake," Théoden cried. "Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!"

Aragorn drew his sword with a steely look in his eyes. One of the soldiers on the ground, however, shook his head and gazed up imploringly at his king.

"But sire, this is madness!"

Théoden drew his own sword. A malicious smile spread across his face.

"Madness?" he murmured. "THIS. IS. SPARTA!" Everyone in the chamber stared at him with blank faces, whilst the soldier quietly wiped the king's saliva from his face. Théoden gave a shrug. "Or, you know, Forth Eorlingas, whatever."

And so as the horn of Helm Hammerhand rumbled pathetically through the fortress Théoden led a courageous charge out of the Keep and through the shattered gate, cleaving a path through the army of Uruk-hai along the causeway which had swarmed out to meet the king and his riders. Amidst all of this impressive hacking and slashing Aragorn was forced to rub his eyes a couple of times, for he swore that he kept seeing a mysterious white horse and glimpses of a dark-haired woman fighting amidst all of the Rohirrim.

Just as the riders were really beginning to get into the business of slaughtering their enemies, Aragorn looked up and saw a white rider at the head of the ravine, backlit by the rays of the rising sun. The horse upon which he sat reared majestically and gave a whinny. It was Gandalf (the rider, not the horse).

Aragorn frowned.

"Show off," he muttered.

Shadowfax settled to the ground once again as Gandalf surveyed the battle raging in the ravine below. Many of the Uruk-hai noticed that the attention of the defenders was elsewhere and turned their heads towards the commotion.

"Théoden king stands alone," said Gandalf.

Éomer came riding up and paused behind him.

"It's _King _Théoden, you dolt." He rolled his eyes and then unsheathed his sword. "Rohirrim!" he yelled.

A great host of men suddenly came rushing up behind him. They halted at the head of the ravine behind Gandalf and Éomer.

The wizard winced and put a hand to his head.

"Do you mind?" he moaned. "You just yelled that right in my ear…"

Below, the battle had all but ceased as the Uruk-hai stood transfixed at the sight of the riders at the head of the ravine. Théoden smiled as he recognized his nephew.

Éomer raised his sword in the air and cried: "To the king!"

And so the two riders checked their horses and led the huge host of Rohirrim in a majestic charge down the slopes of the ravine towards Helm's Deep. Many of the Uruk-hai turned and rushed to meet the riders as they rode down the ridiculously vertical slope, and brandished their hooked spears to skewer them as they came.

It was not to be, however, for the sun conveniently broke over the edge of the rise at that moment, and the Uruk-hai, who had forgotten to don their sunglasses that day, were blinded and raised their spears in dismay. With many a stupid battle cry Gandalf, Éomer and the Rohirrim tumbled head over heels upon their horses and crashed straight into the battalion of Uruk-hai with less grace than Samwise Gamgee at a buffet. Aragorn rolled his eyes as they brushed themselves off and proceeded to do choreographed battle.


	30. The Tales That Really Dragged

_Yay! I can't believe I have finally finished The Two Towers :D I wrote lots of material for the Fellowship and Return of the King back when I first started writing this fic so many eons ago, but I barely had anything written for the middle film. Needless to say, it's taken me a good while to complete the second third of this story, but now that it is finished I am feeling very accomplished ^_^_

_Anyways, this is going to be my last fic update of 2009; I worked hard to get these last two chapters finished so that I could begin afresh in the New Year with the Return of the King. I actually need to put my feet up and watch the third film again to get some new ideas for jokes as well… Also, in answer to reader questions, Tig is indeed the fake creation of Dom and Billy and the fourth female I mentioned last chapter is Rosie ^_^  
_

**XX****X**

Many leagues away the great host of Ents, led by a furious Treebeard, marched towards Isengard with murderous intent. Merry and Pippin listened excitedly upon his shoulders as Treebeard spoke of all that he and his brethren were planning to do that day: how they would hurl huge rocks at the tower of Orthanc, crush orc after orc as they tried to flee with their giant feet, smash infernal machinery to pieces and hurl the remnants down into the smoking furnaces of Isengard, not to mention their plan to destroy the nearby dam and unleash the river to sweep away every evil thing which had somehow escaped their murderous wrath as Saruman watched in horror from the balcony of Orthanc… When they were finished, Isengard would be nothing more than a flooded shell of its former self. All in all, it would make a smashing action sequence.

Merry realized he was drooling at the thought of all this plot-driven action-y goodness, and hurriedly wiped at his chin.

Beside him, Pippin leant in towards Treebeard and murmured: "Do we take part in all this too?"

"Of course," Treebeard told the hobbit. "You're both very brave and dashing in the whole business, throwing stones and smiting orcs here and there…"

This all sounded too good to be true. Merry's eyes widened at the thought of what amazing feats of derring-do he and his fellow hobbit would get up to in the next scene. And so the Ents marched onward towards Isengard, the hobbits quivering with anticipation as they prepared to do all that they could to-

Suddenly, the screen flickered black and white, and the image titled out of focus for a moment. Merry turned towards the camera and gave a groan.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me…"

Even as he spoke the screen flickered once again, and then with a whirring judder the movie projector died. A title promptly appeared in lieu of the picture reading '_Scene Missing'_. Jazzy interlude music played for a moment, and then the picture returned suddenly to life.

The hobbits were finally in Isengard, but there was no action scene to be had; instead, Merry and Pippin were sitting upon a half-demolished wall before the ruin of Isengard, smoking their pipes and enjoying the spoils of apparent victory.

Merry threw down his pipe in a huff.

"For Eru's sake!" he cried. "Just one bloody action scene – is that really too much to ask for a hobbit in this ridiculous movie?"

Pippin just shrugged beside him and took a draw of his own pipe.

"Meh, sounds like too much hard work to me. Why don't we just get stoned instead?"

And so they did.

**XX****X**

Back at Osgiliath, Frodo was stuck in a random trance as he walked away from the safe corner in which the two hobbits had been thrust by Faramir earlier. Sam turned and gave him a puzzled look as he went.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Did you not hear what Faramir just said?"

Frodo could not hear Sam, however; he was busy listening to his iPod.

In the sky above the Nazgûl swooped down low over the ruins of the city with great beats of its wings; Gondorian soldiers rushed about in all directions below, deserting their stations as readily as the Rohirrim at Helm's Deep. Amidst all of this confusion Frodo continued to walk calmly into the open, bopping his head to his easy listening tunes.

Sam stopped short beneath the archway nearby.

"Where are you going?" he cried. Frodo just continued on without giving an answer. Sam rolled his eyes. "Ungrateful bastard. I gave you that iTunes gift card for your birthday..."

Everything became slow motion as Frodo walked out onto a bridge open to the sky. The Nazgûl suddenly rose up before him with immense eeriness, and Frodo removed his headphones and slowly lifted the Ring upon its chain. Faramir saw everything unfolding from below.

"Oh shit," he muttered.

Frodo, however, was oblivious to the deafening pleas for sanity from the audience, and his eyes became desperate as he closed his eyes and made to slip the Ring onto his finger. Sam rushed up the stairs and rugby tackled Frodo to the ground with a cry. The Nazgûl swooped down at that moment and decided it should probably pose some kind of threat in this movie.

Luckily, there was a twang and a thud as Faramir shot an arrow into the hide of the Fell Beast. It flew reeling into the sky and apparently disappeared, for it was not heard of again for the rest of this movie. Sam and Frodo, however, rolled violently down the stairs and landed with a thud upon the ground. Frodo gave a scandalised cry and drew Sting from his belt; soon the blade was pointing at Sam's throat.

"You bastard!" cried Frodo. "You broke my friggin' iPod!"

For some reason tears were already running down Sam's face.

"It's me," the fat hobbit murmured. "It's your Sam. Don't you know your Sam?" He frowned then, and stared up at the camera with an embarrassed look upon his face. "Seriously, that sounded a lot less gay in my head."

Frodo stared at him for a long moment with an uncomprehending look upon his face, and then slumped backwards; Sting fell from his hand and hit the ground with a dull clang. Sam put a hand to his throat with a frown.

"I can't do this, Sam," Frodo murmured in a hollow voice. "I told Boromir before - I'm just not that kind of hobbit."

"I know," Sam said tearfully. "It's all wrong." The fat hobbit wearily hauled himself to his feet, and looked out over the ruins of Osgiliath before them, one hand upon the stone archway near where they had fought. Gollum was randomly waiting in the background. "By rights we shouldn't even be here," he said. "But we are. So nuts to the purists." He gave a sigh as he looked out into the distance, and prepared himself for yet another melodramatic monologue. "It's like in the great movies, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really dragged. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because who could sit there for three plus hours without needing to take a bathroom break?"

As the hobbit spoke convenient images began to play, tying up all the loose ends of this movie. At Helm's Deep the Rohirrim rallied their horses and drove away the last of the Uruk-hai with a many a battle cry.

Sam shifted into voice over mode: "How could the world go back to the way it was when you had made such a killing at the box office?

"Royalties!" Théoden cried in jubilation, raising his sword in the air. "We have royalties!"

"But in the end," Sam continued, "it's only a passing thing, this box office taking…"

After the battle the fortress of Helm's Deep was streaming with people once again, gathering supplies and welcoming the men as they returned. Éowyn ran up to Aragorn as he approached and flung her arms around him, tears of relief starting in her eyes. Aragorn grinned a little as she pressed his face into her breasts.

"Even blockbusters must pass," Sam continued. "A new craze will come…"

Over at Isengard, Merry and Pippin sat there looking glum, their heads in their hands, as the camera panned down over them and suddenly paused in disappointment.

"No action scene to be had here, folks," Merry muttered, gazing into the screen with dead eyes. "You'll have to wait until _Return of the King_."

Sam faltered for a moment, still gazing out upon Osgiliath (and, apparently, the rest of Middle Earth as well). Then he caught himself again and continued on: "And when it does we will regret not milking this thing when we had the chance. Because these are the stories we can stretch out further. That are worth more than our measly paycheques. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those movies had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something."

Frodo was still slumped upon the ground, his back resting against the stone wall of the ruined building whose ruins they sheltered in. He raised his head and asked forlornly: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

The fat hobbit drew Frodo to his feet.

"That there's a lot more money to be squeezed from this franchise, Mr. Frodo," he insisted. "And it's worth fighting for."

The two exchanged a determined look. Nearby, Gollum's eyes shone with the possibilities of all the fish that he could buy with his royalties. Faramir, who had apparently been eavesdropping this entire time, slowly walked over and came to kneel down in front of the two hobbits.

"I think at last," he said softly, "we understand one another, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo seemed immensely relieved at his words, but Sam just gave a disbelieving laugh.

"What, just because I made an impassioned speech you're going to let us go?" he asked. "Your logic completely fails."

Madril appeared out of nowhere and chastised Faramir: "You know the laws of our country, the laws of your father. If you let them go, your life will be forfeit."

Faramir did not even hesitate; a small smile played at his lips.

"Then it is forfeit," he said. "Release them."

And the rangers who had also appeared out of nowhere removed their hands from the hobbits' shoulders; Sam, however, frowned with dissatisfaction as he hiked his pack over his shoulders a little higher.

"What did you say?" he asked. "Your life is forfeit? What does that even mean?"

Faramir got defensive: "Hey, it's the rules of our country, okay? I don't go around criticizing your stupid civilisation or its dumb customs!"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, whatever. That line is never going to be referenced again. The only reason you said it was to look cool."

Faramir simply touched a hand to the sword at his belt.

"Look, do you really wanna be questioning the integrity of the guy with the huge frickin' sword, huh?"

Nearby, Frodo shuffled his feet a bit.

"It's not _that _big…"

"Oh, piss off!" exploded Faramir, whirling around to face the other hobbit. "I'm about to become an orphan in a few scenes' time – I don't need this shit."

And he stomped off to go and strengthen the garrison which was currently holding Osgiliath by the skin of its teeth. Sam watched him go with a look of disdain.

"You know," he muttered to Frodo, "I think I preferred his brother…"

**XX****X**

Elsewhere, the victorious members of the Fellowship rode up to the head of the ravine of Helm's Deep, along with Théoden, Gamling (who had survived thanks to his propensity to run away screaming at the first sign of trouble) and Éomer, or at least what seemed like Éomer at first glance. The others quickly did a double take when they saw he was simply an imposter who had stolen the guy's armour.

Gimli frowned.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked the guy-who-looked-like-Éomer-at-first-glance-but-quite-obviously-wasn't-him-when-you-paused-the-DVD.

"_Moi_?" The guy gestured to himself questioningly. For some reason he was French.

Théoden narrowed his eyes and peered intently at the rider wearing his nephew's armour.

"I _knew _there was something off about you…"

Aragorn rolled his eyes and reigned in his horse.

"Look, the dude is obviously a body double. Give the editors a break, will you? They just sat through about three hours of mind-numbing scenes featuring hobbits talking to trees and Gimli." The dwarf folded his arms at this. "So they forgot to CGI Éomer's head on his body – no big deal! Half the audience can't even tell the difference anyways."

As if to prove his point, Legolas leant over his horse and gave the guy a cheery wave.

"Hi Éomer!"

Aragorn rolled his eyes again.

"You see my point? Anyways, I know this is an ensemble cast and everything, but I feel that I am _long _overdue for an Oscar nomination…"

Gandalf smirked knowingly to himself.

"You wish, boy."

"I'm just glad it's all over," said Gimli with a sigh. Aragorn turned to look at him and again noticed that the dwarf was wearing a printed t-shirt beneath his armour. This one read '_I Survived Helm's Deep_'.

"Hey," said the ranger, "where did you get that shirt?"

Gimli gestured over his shoulder.

"Concessions stand."

Legolas nodded in agreement and revealed his own shirt, which was a bright shade of pink.

"You can get women's ones too…"

"Hmm." Aragorn tapped thoughtfully at his chin. "I wonder if I should get Arwen one…"

"Zat is probably not a good idea," said French Éomer. "She vould probably see eet as a cheap dig."

"Oh, shut up, you," muttered Aragorn.

"So yes, anyways." Gandalf cleared his throat nearby. "Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin."

Aragorn put his face in his hands.

"You mean we have yet another film of this shit to slog through?"

The wizard nodded.

"I'm afraid so."

Théoden seemed delighted at this prospect, but the others just groaned. Aragorn gave a sigh and then spurred his horse onwards.

"I'm telling you," he said, as the group slowly descended down the rise, "if I don't get laid at the end of this trilogy then someone is getting their legs broke…"

**XX****X**

A ways away Frodo and Sam were walking happily through the blackened woods away from the ruin of Osgiliath, led onwards by Gollum. It was almost as if nothing untoward had happened to them, and the editor was groaning through his hands as he realised how pointless their entire storyline had been in this movie.

Sam smiled as he walked and suddenly said: "I wonder if we'll ever be put into songs or tales?"

Up ahead, Frodo turned and gave him a pointed look.

"You've obviously never heard of slash, have you Sam?"

Sam shook his head and continued: "I wonder if people will ever say, 'let's hear about Frodo and the Ring.' And they'll say 'yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was really courageous, wasn't he, dad?'"

Frodo raised an eyebrow.

"Courageous? I think you've been watching the same movie as Théoden... But anyways, you've left out one of the chief characters – Samwise the Brave. I want to hear more about Sam." Frodo stopped then, and turned to his friend with a serious expression on his face. "Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam."

"Well duh." Sam heaved his backpack over his shoulders a little higher. "I've no clue why you get top billing in this movie. It's me that's been carrying you for the last six bloody hours…"

They continued on, and began calling for Gollum when they realized the creature was missing from their sight. He was crawling through the underbrush nearby, muttering schizophrenically to himself again. Apparently his entire character arc in this movie had never even happened.

"Master looks after us," his Sméagol side insisted. "Master wouldn't hurt us."

Gollum suddenly reared his head.

"What are you talking about? He let everyone and their mother beat the crap out of us. Master broke his promise."

"Don't ask Sméagol," his other side whined, crawling pathetically across the ground. "Poor, poor Sméagol…"

"Master betrayed us!" Gollum snarled, rearing up again. "Wicked, tricksy, false. We ought to wring his filthy little neck, the useless twat." He snaked his hands around the branch of a nearby tree and twisted it violently. Then he began to crawl again, muttering: "Kill him! Kill him! Kill them both." He reached out a hand and snatched at the air. "And then we take the precious and we be the star of this movie!"

Sméagol's face dissolved into fear, and he crawled away to hide behind a nearby tree. His hands clawed desperately at its trunk.

"The fat hobbit, he knows. Eyes always watching…"

Gollum peered out from behind the other side of the trunk.

"Then we stabs them out!" he cried. "Put out his eyeses. And make _him_ crawl."

Sméagol's face lit up with excitement.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" he squealed.

Gollum smiled: "Kill them both."

Sméagol nodded furiously in agreement, but then he suddenly became scared and clung to the tree trunk once again.

"No!" he cried, backing away until his back was up against a nearby tree. "They're main characters! It's too risky, it's too risky…"

Suddenly he heard calls from the hobbits in the distance, and cowered behind the tree in alarm. Slowly a sinister idea began to form in Gollum's mind, and he turned away with a queer smile.

"We could let _her_ do it," he muttered to himself.

Sméagol's eyes widened with delight at this idea.

"Yes," he agreed. "She could do it. She should have been in this movie anyways."

"Yes, precious she could," said Gollum. "And then we takes it once they're dead. And-"

"What are you jabbering on about?" asked Sam, suddenly thrusting his head out from behind the tree. Gollum almost jumped out of his skin and fell to the ground with a thud.

Frodo was beside Sam, and he shook his head with a good-natured smile.

"Enough with the plotting of our deaths!" he told Gollum. "We need to get to Mordor at some point this decade…"

Gollum lay there for a moment, trying to control his anger at the utter stupidity of these two main protagonists. His anger soon changed to glee, however, when he realised that they were still completely oblivious to the danger that they were in. With a smile he collected himself from the ground and began to crawl onwards, turning around and gesturing over his shoulder into the distance.

"Come on, hobbits," he said in his best sing-song voice. "Long ways to go yet! Sméagol will show you the way to the next instalment." He continued on with his head low to the ground, a malicious smile spreading across his face. "Follow me, folks."

And so Sam and Frodo picked their way through the trees and followed Gollum on to their apparent-but-obviously-not-because-if-the-good-guys-died-it-wouldn't-be-much-of-a-movie, erm, doom. And the run-on sentences were given a rest for a time as the camera panned up to reveal the evil landscape of Mordor on the other side of the immense range of blackened and jagged mountains known as the Ephel Dúath. Or maybe not, because that last sentence was pretty long as well. Oops.

Anyways, Mordor was revealed in its entirety of evil, and Mount Doom stood there blasting molten rock from its summit; the tower of Barad-dûr was nearby, in which Sauron stood around, twiddling his (metaphorical) thumbs, and a few Nazgûl patrolled the skies for no reason other than to add a bit more atmosphere.

As the picture faded to black a few succinct words appeared in its place:

_Frodo Baggins Will Return in…_

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

_(a.k.a. They destroy the Ring and the good guys eventually win)_

_(a.a.k.a. Sam does all the dirty work and Frodo is nothing but a lazy prick who steals all the glory and gets a free trip to Valinor for his troubles)_

_(a.a.a.k.a Somebody with an affinity for gardening has broken into the editing suite and messed with the credits. Please do ignore the last line and the current line which is telling you to ignore said line)_

_(a.a.a.a.k.a Wi nøt trei a høliday in Sweden this yër?)_


	31. Fishing For A Compliment

_And I'm back, with beer! :D I'm so sorry for the unbelievably long wait for this chapter, but the last few months I have been crazy busy finishing off my degree. I simply had no time at all to sit down and write any of this story, and to be honest I was struggling when I did find the time to__ bring in the funny. Then I had a massive brainstorming session with a friend and the jokes just suddenly flowed forth, so I have to thank her a lot for that! _•hands her a beer•

_Thank__ you so much for the reviews and faves, everyone. I can honestly say that I am extremely flattered by all the kind words and I promise to reply to each review individually from now on. And no more seven month hiatuses, I promise!_

**XX****X**

In an idyllic landscape, upon an idyllic lake, a little rowing boat bobbed up and down upon the gentle current. Two fishing lines arced into the water as the sun sparkled upon the surface of the lake; a scene of tranquillity and contentment which only served to emphasize the impending tragedy which was about to strike at the heart of this peaceful community... The scene of the excruciatingly brutal and violent murder of-

Sméagol let out a frustrated sigh.

"Bloody hell, I'm bored."

His cousin Déagol looked up from his fishing rod and shot him an anxious look.

"What was the narrator just saying about a brutal and violent murder?"

Sméagol waved a hand.

"Oh, nothing. It's not important, my love. Just enjoy your screen time whilst you can."

And so they both continued with their fishing, relishing the glow of the dawn, the graceful lines of their fishing rods as they arced into the water... Long story short, they both fell asleep faster than Samwise Gamgee at a shindig without a buffet. After what seemed an eternity there was a sharp tug upon Déagol's fishing line as one of the fish finally deigned to bite. They both woke up with a start.

"I've got one!" Déagol cried, flailing his arms about wildly in joy. "I've got a fish, Sméagol!"

"Thank Eru for that," Gollum muttered, wiping the drool from his chin.

The fish tugged upon the line again, this time a lot harder. The two descended into raucous laughter at this, having gone apparently hysterical with boredom. Sméagol watched with delight as his cousin fought frantically against his fishing rod, urging him to reel it in, but instead the almighty strength of the fish was enough to tip Déagol out of the boat and into the water with a huge splash. Go figure. Soon nothing but his hat remained to float upon the surface of the water.

Sméagol leant over the edge of the rocking boat with a frown.

"Why didn't you just let go of the friggin' rod?" He brushed the water from his shirtsleeves. "Idiot."

Beneath the surface a huge CGI fish pulled Déagol across the bottom of the lake with its apparently fantastical strength. Fortunately Déagol had at least the good sense to let go of his fishing rod as he held a huge breath, but he paused when he noticed something glinting at the bottom of the lake, half-buried in the sand. It was the Ring. Déagol let forth a stream of bubbles from his mouth as he smiled at the sight.

"Ooh, shiny."

Eagerly he closed his hand about the Ring before hauling himself dripping wet out of the water, struggling onto the grassy bank like a limp fish. When he had regained his feet at last he opened his palm to reveal the Ring and a whole heap of mud. Déagol poked at it in fascination as his companion ran over to check on him, calling his name and laughing at his seemingly-apparent-but-obviously-not-dead condition.

Sméagol's eyes went wide the moment that he saw the Ring.

"Give us that, Déagol, my love," he said quietly.

Déagol turned and gave a snort of derision.

"Why should I?" he said. "This is what? Eighteen, nineteen carats gold? This baby is going straight on eBay…"

Sméagol put a hand upon his cousin's shoulder.

"Because it's my birthday," he insisted, "and I wants it."

"But I already bought you a present," said Déagol. "I got you that bloody iPhone – it isn't my fault you can't get a decent signal on it…"

The strange smile on Sméagol's face disappeared. With a growl he attempted to snatch the Ring away, but Déagol refused to let him have it. He held it up above his head and began to dance about, keeping it just out of reach of his cousin's desperate upward lunges.

"Give me it!" Sméagol cried.

Déagol simply continued to dodge his lunges and stuck his tongue out in disdain.

"Over my dead body!"

At these words something in Sméagol snapped. His hand shot out and slapped Déagol square in the face with a flourish.

Déagol staggered back and raised a hand to his reddening cheek.

"Um, ow?"

And Déagol lashed out and kicked his cousin hard in the knee. Sméagol gave a yelp and hopped about a little as he cradled his injured leg.

"Ow!" he cried. "Sissy kicker!"

Sméagol retaliated with a pathetic slap to Déagol's arm, eliciting another cry of pain. And so the battle lines were drawn, and the two cousins broke out into an unbelievably girly fight full of weak slaps, hair pulling and all other manner of lame offensive moves. Somehow they both ended up bent over, holding each other firmly in a headlock with reddened faces and tangled hair.

"Okay," Sméagol managed, gasping for air, "this is getting a little embarrassing…"

"I agree!" Déagol winced, straining against the headlock.

"So we should stop?"

"Yes!"

And in agreement they broke apart on three. For the longest time both just stood there with bent knees, attempting to regain their breath. Suddenly Déagol rolled his eyes in frustration and straightened up again.

"Fine!" he said. "Just take the bleeding thing. It doesn't go with any of my clothes anyways."

And he opened his palm and deposited the Ring in Sméagol's outstretched hand. Sméagol snatched it up and studied it with jubilant eyes, then gave a grin and patted Déagol on the shoulder.

"Thanks, cous," he said. "Much appreciated."

Sméagol bit down upon the Ring with his teeth to check that it was indeed real gold. His smile widened when he had ascertained the value of his find, and he was still beaming as he slipped the Ring inside his trouser pocket.

A weary sigh came from off-camera, and Peter Jackson removed his headphones and kneaded the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Um, guys?" he ventured. "This really isn't very dramatic."

Déagol put his hands upon his hips.

"Well, what did _you_ have in mind then?"

"The script says that you throttle him to death!" Jackson cried, waving a copy at him for good measure. "It establishes the completely inescapable evil of the Ring! A hissy fit bitch slapping contest just does not have the same effect."

"But we're trying to create art here!" Sméagol moaned. As a techie walked past with a lighting rig he whirled around and added in an angry voice: "Am I going to walk around and rip your f***ing lights down, in the middle of a scene? Idiot…"

"Okay, okay," Jackson said, raising a placating hand. "Just calm down. There's no need to go all Christian Bale on his ass."

The lighting technician backed away sheepishly as Sméagol's face turned an angry shade of red. Jackson just returned his headphones to his ears and moved back behind the camera, shaking his head in annoyance.

"Please, let's just get one more take," he said. "And this time stick to the script, okay? This bloody film trilogy is hard enough to parody without going off on these wild tangents which lend themselves so ineffectively to a decent punchline…"

**XX****X**

Um, yeah.

So eventually poor Sméagol went all method on his cousin's ass and murdered the guy in cold blood. And then he descended into madness as the Ring began to take its hold, abandoning his usual beauty regime and ripping his clothes to shreds as he scrambled about the rocky landscape and screamed melodramatically at the heavens. Apparently his own people had cursed him and driven him away into the wilds, and there he slowly transformed into Gollum, crying emo tears in the rain and eating raw fish which he caught with his own bare hands.

When his inner darkity darkness became simply too much Gollum crawled into an opening which led deep into the Misty Mountains. There he forgot even his own name, and the very implausible set up to a very profitable movie franchise soon began as his bulbous eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"My prrreciousss…" he purred.

**XX****X**

In the darkening windswept landscape loud snores emanated from a large lump of hobbit rolled up in a sleeping bag. Another hobbit-shaped lump sitting beside him reached out and whacked him soundly across the back of the head. The snoring duly seized as Sam turned over with a series of grunts, muttering something incomprehensible about pie.

They had rested for the night in a stony alcove jutting out of the barren landscape, and Sam had done nothing but sleep, eat most of their rations and waste the water in their flasks in order to wash his socks whenever they felt 'too dirty'. When Frodo pointed out that Sam did not even need to wear socks the hobbit simply shot him a dirty look and muttered something about carrying-the-entire-trilogy-on-his-considerably-handsome-and-underappreciated-shoulders.

Frodo gave a sigh and scratched distractedly at his neck. Then he looked about shiftily before reaching for the Ring which was currently hanging around his neck, drawing it out upon its long chain and cradling it between his fingers with quickening breaths. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when he realise how badly he needed a manicure.

The hobbit hurriedly returned the Ring to the folds of his shirt when he heard Gollum returning from another useless therapy session. His excited face appeared from above as he hung down from the ceiling of the alcove, turning into a scowl as he noticed their current state of undress.

"Wake up you lazy buggers!" he cried, swinging down to join them and kicking at Sam furiously. "Seriously, if you two can't even stay awake for this bloody film then how do you expect the audience to?"

Gollum's vicious kicks seemed to do the trick, for eventually Sam sat up and arched his back as he stretched. Gollum slinked away with a satisfied smirk. The fat hobbit's groan cut short, however, when he noticed Frodo beside him, sitting there with extremely bloodshot eyes. He was clutching a steaming mug of coffee in his hand emblazed with the words '_Hobbits do it better than your old gaffer_.' He looked like hell.

"Haven't you had any sleep, Mr. Frodo?"

The hobbit glared at him.

"Sam, you snore like a bloody foghorn. Of course I didn't get any sleep."

Frodo sipped at his coffee as Sam clambered groggily to his feet, running a tired hand across his face as he took in their surroundings in the grey light of day.

"Must be getting late," he muttered.

"It's getting late because you slept half of the day away, you gormless tit." Frodo took another sip of his coffee and then pursed his lips in pleasure. "Oh Eru, that's the stuff…"

The next moment the ground began to shake as Mount Doom made with the distant rumblings. Frodo's face fell as hot coffee sloshed all over his shirt.

"Come on!" Gollum cried, calling to the hobbits over his shoulder. "We can stop at Starbucks on the way if you like. Get your butts in gear!"

"But what about breakfast?" asked Sam.

Gollum rolled his eyes.

"We'll grab a latte and a muffin on the way. Come on! No time to lose, silly!"

And so with many a groan and a curse the hobbits gathered up their things and began to pick their way through the rocky landscape, setting off once more on their glorified hike towards Mordor and the nearest branch of Starbucks.

**XX****X**

Beneath the murky eaves of Fangorn Forest a company of familiar riders trampled through the undergrowth, glancing around anxiously for any sign of approaching fangirls. As they went the camera swept skywards above the canopy of the trees as the obligatory caption appeared emblazed across the screen:

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King 

_(a.k.a. The Neverending Story Part IV)_

It was not long before the company emerged from the fringes of the forest and looked out upon the ruined sight of Isengard; a surly-looking janitor mopped doggedly at the stagnant water which covered the ground and gave them a grunt of acknowledgement. Upon the stone wall before them sat Merry and Pippin, their legs dangling merrily as they helped themselves to the spoils of war. Merry staggered drunkenly to his feet as he saw the riders approach.

"Welcome, my lords, to the third movie!" he announced in a loud and inebriated voice. "I suspect you will find it much more accommodating than the last installment, especially when it comes to the partitioning of action sequences…"

"And we have beer!" chimed in Pippin, thrusting his tankard into the air.

The riders reined in their horses and came to a halt, staring at the hobbits in bewilderment and joy. Gimli put his hands upon his hips.

"You bastards!" he cried. "You jammy, jammy bastards! A merry hunt you've lead us on, and now we find you feasting and smoking! Don't you know that this is a PG-13?"

Pippin waved his tankard of beer in dismissal.

"We are sitting on the field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts."

"In other words," said Merry, plopping back down upon the wall, "we are both getting majorly stoned. Care to join us?"

The hobbit took an inviting drag upon his pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke. Pippin inspected his own discarded pipe with a frown, and then nodded towards a barrel nearby.

"Longbottom leaf," he said. "It has already helped us to block out the horrific experience that was Treebeard… And we have food aplenty!" Pippin gestured to the provisions laid out around them. "The salted pork is particularly good," he added. With a frown he looked down at his gurgling stomach. "For some reason I am starting to get the munchies…"

Aragorn sighed and then turned back to the other riders.

"On second thought, let's not go to Isengard," he muttered gloomily. "It is a silly place."

And so they all just shrugged and turned back the way that they had come, rendering their long journey to Isengard pretty much pointless (at least in the theatrical version, anyways).

**XX****X**

In the end the lure of a free bar proved to be too much, and so Théoden led the company back to Meduseld for the post-Helm's Deep memorial service and disco. As they galloped across the vast plains Éowyn stood upon the steps outside the Golden Hall and watched their approach, her dress and hair strewn about angstily in the breeze. Later she presented Théoden with the ceremonial cup as he addressed the gathered assembly inside the Golden Hall.

"Tonight," announced Théoden, "we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country." He held out his goblet in reverence. "Hail the victorious dead! Um, y'know, Haldir… Háma… a bunch of other people whose names I don't remember…"

Everybody else raised their goblets in turn.

"Hail!" they cried.

And so much drunkenness and debauchery began. Along each wall stood a table laden with enough buffet food to curb even Samwise Gamgee's appetite, and everybody partook of the free bar and opened keg after keg of ale much to the chagrin of the catering staff. It did not take long for a rather tipsy Legolas to take on Gimli in a drinking game, having taken affront to his suggestion that a delicate elven princeling could not hope to prevail against the 'legendary constitution of the dwarves'. Others took to the dance floor in a vain bid to prove their skills. It was not a pretty sight.

A roving Éowyn eventually came upon Aragorn amongst the milling partygoers, and she brushed down the sides of her pretty blue dress and then adjusted her bra in a nearby mirror before flouncing over to him with a grin. He stopped and turned to her as she held out a goblet of wine towards him.

"_Westu, Aragorn, hál_," she said.

His face fell.

"Huh?"

Éowyn shoved the goblet at him, wine sloshing down its sides and spilling onto the floor.

"Just drink from the bloody cup, m'kay?"

The ranger looked down at the proffered drink with a frown. Then he gestured to the gaudy badge pinned to his lapel.

"But I'm the designated driver."

"Just do it," she snarled.

Aragorn snatched the cup from her with a pout and downed the entire thing in one chug. He passed it back to her with a glare, wine now dribbling down his chin and staining the front of his shirt.

"You only needed to take a sip," she deadpanned.

Aragorn did not answer, but simply turned on his heel and walked away into the intoxicated crowd. Éowyn watched him go with her head tilted and her eyes fixed upon the alluring sway of his hips. She was only snapped out of her stupor by the sound of somebody regally clearing their throat.

She turned with a start to find Théoden standing behind her, wearing a crown fashioned out of tin foil at a rather jaunty angle. A goblet of wine was in his hand.

"Hi."

Éowyn folded her arms.

"Uncle, how much have you been drinking?"

Théoden gave a shrug and knocked back his wine.

"Two, maybe three kegs," he said blearily, waving his goblet about. "I forget. Lost count after the first four."

Éowyn rubbed at her forehead in frustration.

"Seriously?" she said. "I'm actually trying to score at the moment. Do you think that you could sober up a bit and start acting like, y'know, a king?"

"And what about Aragorn?" Théoden grinned and pointed out across the crowd, where the ranger was standing near the bar in the corner, knocking back shots like there was no tomorrow. "An honourable man, indeed."

A frown spread across Éowyn's face as she watched Aragorn getting into a rather furious argument with Legolas about his alcohol consumption. It ended with the elf comatose upon the floor after a single punch.

Théoden shook his head good naturedly.

"Don't listen to me," he said. "You are young and tonight is for you. Come on – let's go down the disco."

Théoden put an inviting hand upon her arm, but Éowyn simply brushed him off with a scowl.

"Look," she said, indicating the ridiculous crown atop his head. "If you insist on wearing that in public you're gonna spend the rest of the evening all by yourself."

"Oh yeah?" Théoden folded his arms in disdain. "If you're gonna make me choose between you and the hat? I choose the hat."

And he flounced off in indignation, leaving Éowyn feeling very foolish as she stood all alone, clutching her now-empty ceremonial goblet to her chest.

It was going to be a _very _long night.

**XX****X**

As the disco raged on Merry and Pippin were to be found dancing upon one of the long wooden tables, their tankards of beer sloshing everywhere as they drunkenly serenaded the cheering crowd gathered about them. Gandalf was standing in the corner near the speakers, bopping his head rather pathetically to the beat as he watched the hobbits dancing. At any other shindig he would have looked extremely out of place, not to mention disturbingly shady.

Eventually a fellow reveller stumbled over and offered the wizard a drink. Gandalf turned and looked in surprise upon Aragorn. He was now wearing Théoden's tin foil crown, but he had attached to it the large badge bearing his alcohol-free credentials. He swayed upon his feet where he stood, multi-coloured party streamers strewn across his shoulders. Wine was sloshed down the front of his shirt.

"I'm the designated driver!" he said with a childish grin.

"Aragorn, are you drunk?"

The ranger snorted in derision.

"Drunk," he murmured giddily. "I mean, that's such a strong word… Kind of a guttural Anglo-Saxon word. Drunk."

"So are you?"

More swaying.

"Yup."

Gandalf gave him a stern look as he passed the ranger his flask of coffee. With a grimace Aragorn took a swig and then returned it, but he did not remove his crown.

"No news of Frodo?" he asked blearily.

Gandalf shook his head.

"No word," he said in frustration. "Nothing." He screwed the top back on the flask and then slipped it back inside his robes. From his other pocket he withdrew his Blackberry and tapped the screen in frustration. "I don't think he's getting any signal…"

Aragorn frowned and leant over to snatch a look at it.

"What does his Facebook status say?"

The wizard was silent for a moment as he scrolled through the tabs on his screen. Somewhere behind them one of the hobbits stumbled over to a potted plant in the corner and promptly threw up in it.

"It says '_Frodo Baggins is getting too old for this shit_,' Gandalf told him. "And underneath that it says '_Biblo Boggins likes this.' _That was posted about a week ago."

Aragorn brushed some of the streamers from his shoulder.

"Biblo Boggins?"

Gandalf just shook his head.

"I don't think Bilbo's quite gotten the hang of this new-fangled technology…"

The ranger gave him a look and then adjusted his makeshift crown. He swayed a little more as the strains of another ear-piercing ballad drifted over from the nearby karaoke machine. Éomer had been hogging the microphone all night and insisted on singing nothing but Barry Manilow.

"We have time," said Aragorn after a moment. "Every day Frodo moves closer to Mordor."

Gandalf turned to him.

"Do we know that?"

"Yup." Aragorn patted the bulge in his shirt pocket. "Says so in the script."

The wizard frowned as he reached inside his robes again and withdrew a pile of stapled sheets.

"Did you get that copy this morning?" he asked as he rifled distractedly through the pages. "I think I've been working from an outdated draft again…"


	32. Completely Redundant Decisions

_Hi everyone :D I did promise there would be no more seven month hiatuses on the updating of this fic_, _so technically I didn't break my promise since it has taken me over a year to update this! I apologise for leaving everybody waiting for so long. It was again a lack of time and inspiration which caused the delay (not to mention working on my other WIPs)._

_I really appreciate all of the encouraging reviews I have received asking after this story and I sat down the other night determined to get this chapter finished once and for all. And __here it is! I hope you enjoy it. For those also waiting on the next chapter of _Dark Paths _it will be posted as soon as possible, honest!  
_

**XX****X**

It was a cold night somewhere in the wilderness. Sam and Frodo were fast asleep huddled beneath their elven cloaks as they recovered from another monotonous day of monotony. Nearby Gollum muttered to himself in his sleep. Obviously none of them had ever heard of the concept of a rotating night watch.

"Stupid fanfic," rambled Gollum. "No updates… so slow… so very slow… not since last July… Only a parody… Can't be that hard to string a few buffet jokes together…"

The next moment he woke up with a start.

"Shhh, quiet!" he hissed to himself, glancing about in panic. "Mustn't wake them! Mustn't ruin it now! I can almost smell that Oscar!"

An apparently-not-sleeping Sam opened one eye.

"Quit it with the dramatic stage whispering, will you?" He sleepily adjusted his pack which was currently serving as a pillow. "Go and stupidly reveal your evil plan somewhere else. I need my beauty sleep."

Gollum folded his arms moodily.

"You don't need to tell me twice."

"I heard that!"

And so an insomniac Gollum left the ungrateful hobbits to their slumber and instead clambered down some rocks to the edge of a small pool bordered by a few stunted trees. He was still completely within earshot, but credulity be damned and all that. Once there he gazed down into the water and proceeded to start a friendly chat with his own reflection. Again with the confusion.

"What's it saying, my precious, my love?" sneered Gollum from the water. "Is Sméagol losing his nerve?"

Sméagol shook his head.

"No!" he insisted. "Not. Never! Sméagol hates nasty hobbitses! Sméagol wants to see them dead!"

"And we will," said Gollum. "Sméagol did it once - he can do it again."

Sméagol thought back to the inconclusive non-killing at the riverside with a frown.

"Did I?"

"Yes," said Gollum. "Eventually, anyways. Turns out premeditated murder isn't the easiest thing to parody. Go figure. But returning to the precious…"

"It's ours!" insisted Sméagol. "Ours! We must get the precious! We must get It back!"

"Patience," said Gollum. "Patience, my love. You've got three more hours of this so you better get used to it. Not to mention the last four chapters from _The__ Two __Towers _still to slog through…"

"When you think about it," huffed Sméagol, pushing loose stones around with his foot, "this film trilogy essentially boils down to about nine hours of people walking."

"With dramatic music."

"With dramatic music," Sméagol conceded. "Interspersed with random shots of Legolas looking clueless. But if Middle Earth had bothered to invest in some decent public transportation infrastructure this entire long-winded mess could have been avoided…"

"That's all well and good, but do you remember the plan?"

"We lead them to the winding stair," offered Sméagol.

Gollum nodded.

"Yes, the stairs. And then?"

"We kill them!"

"No, there's actually another step before that..."

Sméagol nodded excitedly.

"We go down the stairs?"

"Up."

"_Up_ the stairs we go until we come to the tunnel. And _then_ we kill them!"

"No." Gollum rubbed at his temples. "Not exactly. When they go in, there's no coming out. She's always hungry. She always needs to feed. She must eat. All she gets is filthy orcses."

"She? What's with the vague epithet? Why don't you just say the giant spi-"

"Shhhh!" hissed Gollum. "Watch it with the spoilers, will ya? Half of the audience hasn't even bothered to read the book." Nearby Sam was roused again from sleep. "She hungers for sweeter meats. Hobbit meat. A little hairy for my tastes, but still. And when she throws away the bones and empty clothes, then we will find It!"

Sméagol did not seem convinced.

"Presuming she hasn't swallowed the precious as well…"

"Please not to be pointing out the plotholes, kthanx." Gollum cleared his throat menacingly. "But yes, the precious will be ours once the hobbitses are dead!"

He lobbed a stone into the pool to punctuate these words, disturbing the surface of the water. His bulbous eyes widened when he saw Sam reflected over his shoulder.

"You treacherous little toad!"

"Oh bugger."

The next moment there was an almighty clang as Sam whacked Gollum upside the head. Frodo woke up abruptly and rushed to break up the two as the fat hobbit pounded Gollum mercilessly with his frying pan like some kind of disgruntled housewife.

"No, Sam!" cried Frodo. "Leave him alone!"

He pulled Sam away, who was now wielding a misshapen piece of tupperware.

"I heard it from his own mouth," protested Sam. "He means to murder us!"

Frodo rolled his eyes.

"Well duh."

"Never!" Gollum cried in alarm. "Sméagol wouldn't hurt a fly!" He put a hand to his forehead, realised he was bleeding, and then proceeded to scream like a banshee. "Do the words PG-13 mean nothing to you people?"

"You miserable little maggot!" yelled Sam. "I'll stove your head in!" They both shot him a confused look. He lamely lowered his frying pan. "I'll hit you a bunch more times."

But this would not do. Frodo grabbed Sam by the arm and yanked him away from his latest attempt at cold-blooded murder. Gollum screamed like a sissy and threw himself behind a nearby tree.

"Dude, take a chill pill," Frodo told him. "You scare him off, we're lost!"

"I don't care!" Sam yelled back. "I can't do it, Mr. Frodo! I won't wait around for him to kill us! Not for three hours!"

"I'm not sending him away!" said Frodo.

Sam shook his head.

"You don't see it, do you? He's a villain - an extremely sympathetic and popular villain with a hilarious borderline personality disorder, but still."

"We can't do this by ourselves, Sam. Not without a guide. Gandalf stole my bloody Sat Nav." Sam pulled out the puppy dog eyes at this venture. Frodo started to feel the guilt. "I need you on my side."

"I am on your side, Mr. Frodo." Sam thought about this. "Y'know, at least until the inevitable buddy cop movie routine in which we both argue and go our separate ways and then comes the clichéd bit with the saving-of-your-life and the soppy reunion and the reestablishment of the bromance…" He frowned as Frodo held out a consoling hand to a clearly unrepentant Gollum. "That is what we have, right? A bromance?"

Frodo raised an eyebrow.

"You watch way too many movies, Sam."

**XX****X**

A restless Aragorn could not sleep. Instead he took up his pipe and wandered outside to stand upon the steps of the Golden Hall and gaze at the stars. There he found a dark figure, hooded and cloaked, who was serenely studying the glow of Mordor upon the distant horizon.

As he approached Legolas turned to the ranger and gave a massive grin.

"I'm a Jedi!"

Aragorn just yanked down the elf's hood with a scowl.

"Wrong trilogy, you dolt."

**XX****X**

Back inside the Golden Hall the attendees of the post-Helm's Deep memorial disco were fitfully sleeping off the effects of Théoden's famous home brew - all except Pippin, that is, who was having disturbing nightmares involving Gimli and a skin-tight leotard. Needless to say, he was up and awake faster than you can say 'Oscar buzz'.

Pippin clambered over several sleeping Rohirrim and tiptoed across the chamber with all the finesse of Samwise Gamgee at a buffet. Needless to say he soon disturbed somebody sleeping nearby.

"What are you doing?"

Pippin spun around, startled. Merry was sitting upright beneath his blanket and staring at him accusingly.

"I'm stealing something, what does it look like?"

Merry frowned.

"And this sudden kleptomania comes from where?"

Pippin did not answer as he approached Gandalf's sleeping form. The poncy wizard was sleeping in the corner in the only bed, clutching a sword and a small grey bundle. Pippin got a serious case of the wiggins when he saw that the wizard's eyes were wide open.

"Sweet zombie Jesus!" he cried.

Merry rushed over in concern. He also yelped when he saw Gandalf's staring eyes.

"Is he dead?" said Merry.

Pippin bent down and waved a hand in front of the wizard's face. There was no reaction. Then he clicked his fingers a few times for good measure. Still nothing.

Merry swatted at his hand.

"Cut that out. Have you no respect for the dead?"

Pippin straightened and rummaged around in the pocket of his trousers.

"He's not dead, just sleeping."

Merry watched him as he pulled out a cellphone.

"What are you doing?"

Pippin ignored him, bending down and turning his phone around so that he could capture a snapshot of the sleeping wizard and his own grinning face looming over him.

Merry folded his arms disapprovingly.

"If he is dead you are _so_ going to hell. Or whatever the Middle Earth equivalent of that place is anyways. Most of the mythology in _The Silmarillion_ kinda went over my head..."

"So be it," said Pippin. And he put away his phone. Then for good measure he took a random jug from the floor and did his best Indiana Jones impression, surreptitiously switching it with the bundle tucked beneath Gandalf's right arm. Afterwards he scampered across the chamber and set the bundle carefully on the floor beside Merry's bed.

"Pippin," cried Merry, following after him. "Are you mad?"

"I just want to look at it!" he insisted. "Just one more time. It's so shiny…"

And Pippin unfurled the grey cloth. Inside the bundle was a shiny orb which Pippin had found in the floodwaters back at Isengard. It was apparently significant to the plot or something. Go figure.

"Put it back!" said Merry.

Pippin's eyes widened with delight as an orange glow stirred in the orb's surface. It was a _palantír_. His hands trembled as he lowered them onto the stone.

"Pippin!"

He did not answer him. The smile on Pippin's face quickly disappeared, however, as his hands clutched at the fiery _palantír_. The Lidless Eye appeared in its surface. Pippin began to shake uncontrollably with terror, attempting to pull away as a horrible voice erupted from its depths.

"Who for the love of Pete is calling me at this hour? This better not be another telemarketer, or I swear on all that is evil I will liquidate your eyeballs and boil your entrails, I will-"

Merry's eyes widened.

"Oh bugger."

**XX****X**

On the steps of the Golden Hall Legolas turned dramatically towards the camera in the manner of a chipmunk.

"He is here."

Aragorn gave a frown.

"Oh bugger."

**XX****X**

Pippin was freaking out something fierce as he struggled comically with the glowing _palantír_ seemingly glued to his hands. The commotion soon woke up those sleeping nearby. Merry just sat there like a lemon and did nothing as Pippin fell to the floor in agony. Soon Gandalf jerked awake from sleep. The door to the chamber burst open and Aragorn rushed in with Legolas close on his heels.

"Oh thank Eru," he said breathlessly. "This is like the fourth room that we tried."

Merry finally found his voice and jabbed a finger at Pippin.

"Help him!" he cried. "Someone help him! It's stuck with superglue or something!"

And like the genius that he was Aragorn stooped down and took the fiery _palantír_ from a writhing Pippin. He promptly bit back a curse and slumped to his knees, dropping the glowing orb and shaking his hands in obvious pain.

"Hot, hot, hot!"

Legolas knelt down beside him.

"It's alright, I know first aid!"

Aragorn glared at him.

"Stay the hell away from me."

The fiery _palantír _rolled away across the floor. Gandalf jumped out of bed and legged it across the chamber in his pinstriped pyjamas, grabbing a blanket and flinging it across the _palantír_. The cloth set ablaze with a start.

"Why does that always happen with these things?" said Gandalf exasperatedly.

Pippin, meanwhile, was lying zombified upon the chamber floor. The wizard rushed over to him, bending over to take up Pippin's hand. Pippin stared out at nothing. The wizard touched a gentle hand to his cheek and began to whisper soft words, channelling the inappropriately slashy vibes in the hope of reviving him. The others watched anxiously. Eventually Pippin's eyes fluttered open.

"Look at me," said Gandalf.

Pippin stirred weakly.

"Gandalf, forgive me."

His eyes began to close again. Gandalf shook him like a rag doll.

"Look at me," he repeated. "What did you see?"

"A tree," said Pippin dramatically. "There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. It was dead." A convenient image of the White Tree flashed onto the screen. "The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith?" said Gandalf. "Is that what you saw?"

Pippin's expression slackened.

"Minas Who-ith?"

Gandalf frowned.

"Never mind. I forgot it had only been vaguely established up until now."

Pippin continued with the over-emoting: "I saw him," he said fearfully. "I could hear His voice in my head! He sounded pretty mad."

Gandalf's eyes flashed dangerously.

"And what did you tell Him? Speak!"

"Nothing, honestly!" said Pippin. "I think he thought I was a telemarketer…"

The wizard looked grave.

"It's much worse than I thought."

**XX****X**

The next morning Gandalf called an emergency gathering in the Golden Hall to do away with a good chunk of the film's exposition. Aragorn, Théoden and Gimli were the only people brave enough to endure this torture; Legolas had also wandered in during his search for a working hairdryer. Most of those congregated were nursing painful hangovers as a result of their boozy antics the night before. A few sleeping revellers still sprawled in their bedclothes snoozed fitfully throughout the Hall. It looked to all intents and purposes as though a hurricane had hit the place. Limp multi-coloured streamers hung from the rafters, whilst empty beer bottles and shot glasses littered every surface. Théoden, still wearing his tin foil crown, was warily eying the desolation and silently calculating the clean-up bill.

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes," Gandalf was saying wearily. "A fool, but an honest fool he remains."

Legolas rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. His wet hair was currently gathered up in a pink towel on the top of his head. In the corner of the room sat the two hobbits. One of them raised his hand rather awkwardly.

"Um, rude much? I'm sitting right here."

Everybody simply ignored him. Pippin bowed his head again.

"So yeah," Gandalf said. "Shit happens. Thankfully he didn't leak any spoilers to Sauron about Frodo or the Ring. We've been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the _palantír_ a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith." A confused Legolas made to raise his own hand, but Gandalf cut him off: "Yes, Legolas, I'll explain it to you later. His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing - He knows the heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as He supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough perhaps to challenge Him. Sauron fears this. He-"

Gandalf was interrupted by a loud squawk. The next moment a chicken fluttered down from its perch on the rafters and settled atop his head. The wizard's face fell.

"Okay. Can somebody please explain to me why there is a chicken on my head?"

"Don't ask me," said Aragorn. "I'm still trying to figure out why there is a tiger in the bathroom."

There was a faint roar from the distant corridor. Those gathered exchanged worried glances. Gandalf angrily swatted the chicken away.

"Returning to the exposition..." he said. "Sauron will not risk the peoples of Middle-Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of Men. If the Beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war, m'kay?"

Théoden boggled at him as he swept out an arm and gestured to the Hall.

"Ready for war?" he cried. "You lot and your partying have just single-handedly wiped out my retirement nest egg. Do you realise how much it is going to cost to clean up this place?"

Aragorn looked at him askance, a hand resting nobly against his chin.

"You live in a barn. It's not exactly that much of a difference."

"Then tell me," said Théoden in his bitchiest tone. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours, huh?"

"Beats me," said Gandalf. "But them thar's the way the script goes… there."

Théoden folded his arms in a huff.

"What do we owe Gondor?"

Aragorn stepped forward.

"I will go."

"No," said Gandalf.

Aragorn shrugged and stepped back into place again.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"You must come to Minas Tirith by another road," Gandalf insisted. "Follow the river and look to the Black ships."

"Gandalf, I hardly think this is the time to be going on a cruise…"

Gandalf turned and looked around at those gathered. Then he sighed in realisation.

"Understand this," he said. "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith…" Legolas raised his hand again. "And I won't be going alone."

**XX****X**

Merry was stomping off in the direction of the stables after Gandalf so quickly Pippin could barely keep up with him. The hobbit had been inexplicably mad with his cousin all morning and Pippin hadn't the foggiest idea why. Pippin simply stumbled after him down the steps leading from the Golden Hall, distractedly scrolling through outdated internet memes on his Blackberry as he went.

"Where are we going?" he said.

"Why did you look?" complained Merry. "Why do you always have to look?"

"I can't help it!" Pippin insisted. "It's just the way I'm written!"

Merry whirled around, his fists clenched in anger.

"Seriously!" he growled. "You and your constant need for attention! I thought we were in this trilogy side-by-side through thick and thin, but you seize the first opportunity that you can get to hog of all our apportioned screen time! Do you even know how many characters they had to cut from the script to keep this thing within running time? Ever heard of Glorfindel?"

"No," said Pippin meekly.

"Exactly. Every one of us is expendable. And now the audience is gonna focus all of their attention on you and your adorkable Scottish charms and forget that I even exist whilst you go gallivanting off to…"

Merry trailed off when he realised that Pippin was nowhere to be seen. He cast around in exasperation and saw him chatting animatedly with a soldier near the stable entrance and gesturing to something on his Blackberry.

"Did you know that Keanu Reeves is a vampire?"

Merry rolled his eyes and marched over to where Pippin stood, snatching the Blackberry from his hands.

"Don't you understand?" he cried. "The enemy thinks you have the Ring! He's going to be looking for you, Pip. They have to get you out of here."

Pippin's expression turned serious at this.

"And you're coming with me, right?"

Merry did not answer, pushing past Pippin and following Gandalf inside the stables. Pippin hurried after him. Shadowfax was waiting patiently in his stall at the end. They found the wizard leaning against the wall nearby and tapping at something in his gnarled hand in frustration.

"Damned Sat Nav. Where did Frodo buy this bloody thing?"

He soon abandoned his efforts and turned to lift a rather worried Pippin up onto Shadowfax's back.

"How far is Minas Tirith anyways?" said Pippin, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle. "I'd actually like to have children someday."

"Three day's ride as the Nazgûl flies," answered Gandalf. "But not to worry. We'll get there in barely two scenes' time. Perks of a movie adaptation."

As Pippin pondered this over Merry stepped forward and handed him something. Pippin cast him a questioning glance.

"Here, something for the road."

Pippin's eyes widened when he realised what it was.

"Last of the Longbottom Leaf," he said. "Sweet."

Merry nodded.

"I know you've run out. You smoke too much, Pip. Seriously, you're always getting stoned out of your frickin' brains. There are kids watching this movie."

Pippin frowned.

"But we'll see each other soon." Merry and Gandalf exchanged a serious look. "Won't we?"

Merry backed away, his voice wavering with emotion.

"I don't know what's going to happen," he said. "I haven't read the book yet…"

Pippin did not seem too assured by this. Gandalf reached down and patted Shadowfax's neck.

"Run, Shadowfax. Show us the meaning of haste." The horse turned its head quizzically. Gandalf rolled his eyes. "Just go fast."

And so Shadowfax eventually neighed and galloped away with the wizard and his unwilling passenger in tow. They had soon raced out of the stables and down the hill towards the gates of Edoras quicker than Samwise Gamgee when the buffet has just been opened. A distressed hobbit dashed up the steps of the watchtower in order to get a better look at their departure. Aragorn rushed after him.

"Merry!" he called.

The hobbit came to a stop at the summit of the watchtower, looking out through a hole in the fence as he watched Shadowfax bounding away into the distance. Aragorn paused beside him and put a comforting hand upon the hobbit's shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Merry," he said.

The hobbit glanced up at him in confusion.

"Seriously?" he said. "I know most of the characters in this bloody movie are interchangeable, but at least I bothered to remember _your _name. You may be the rightful king of Gondor but you're not exactly the king of manners."

Aragorn glanced down at the source of this comment. Then he put his face in his hands as he realised that Gandalf had ridden off with the wrong hobbit.

**XX****X**

The mystery of Arwen's characterisation was giving Figwit a major headache. It was only two short films ago that she had been out gallivanting by herself in the Nazgûl-strewn wilds and bogarted herself a horse from the legendary Glorfindel. Far be it from him to question why he and a dozen others were now required to escort _Ms.__ Evenstar_ 'by the safest road' to the still largely metaphorical Grey Havens.

Two strides behind him Arwen sat on her bogarted horse, dressed head to toe in a pretty new purple robe and shimmery dress. Figwit had rolled his eyes when he first saw her, toffed up to the ninths for what equated to barely five minutes of screen time. Peter Jackson was going to have a heart attack when he saw the figures for the costume department that month.

As the elves continued on their way a child dashed across their path and into the trees. Arwen turned and watched him as if in a dream. It was a little boy. He ran towards a grey-haired Aragorn who stood amongst the imaginary columns of Minas Tirith. Aragorn lifted up the boy and spun him around in a sickeningly sweet manner. The kid's hair blew back from his face like something from a shampoo commercial as he gazed past Aragorn's shoulder and stared straight at his mother with piercing eyes. He was wearing the Evenstar around his neck.

Arwen closed her eyes as she recalled her father's words from the previous movie:

"He's not coming back. There's no hope, despite what everyone else in this film keeps saying. Also, _The__ Return__ of __the __King_? That's just a typo."

Anger coursed through her as Arwen's eyes snapped open again. That son-of-a-bitch. The vision was gone as she stared off into the trees. Figwit stopped and boggled at her.

"Lady Arwen, we cannot delay, apparently."

Arwen ignored him, pulling at the reins and turning her horse around without a word.

Figwit just stood there dumbfounded.

"So should we just wait for you here or what?"

But Arwen was long gone. None of the elves guarding her seemed to give a toss as she galloped back in the opposite direction towards Rivendell.

It took her less than two seconds of screen time to arrive back at the inexplicably deserted elven valley. There the leaves of autumn were rustling quietly upon the trees as Elrond sat in his nifty little gazebo, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled furiously at something with his quill. As he heard the sound of approaching footsteps he glanced up in confusion. Arwen threw off her heavy riding cloak as she stormed up the steps towards him.

"Tell me what you have seen!" she demanded. "I need spoilers, dammit!"

Elrond almost dropped his quill at this intrusion.

"Arwen?"

"You have the gift of foresight," Arwen said. "What did you see?"

Elrond shook his head as he turned away and returned to his Sudoku.

"I cannot see the future, only the truth of the now and before."

"Yes, we've all got that," said Arwen derisively. "It's called memory. You are the only one who has seen the rest of the script for this movie – what did you see?"

Elrond sighed as he took up his pen and spun it idly between his fingers. Then he put it down again and pushed his chair back with a loud screeching. Arwen stood there impatiently, her arms folded across her chest.

"I saw many things," he admitted. "Death, war, lots of slow motion hugging and multiple fadeouts… Seriously, Ending Fatigue. Look it up on TV Tropes. Or, y'know, don't. That website will ruin your life."

"So basically you are saying that I am screwed?"

Elrond shrugged.

"Pretty much. But if you stay then you might have a son and at least two unnamed daughters. Or not. It's all frustratingly vague."

Arwen threw up her hands in irritation as Elrond turned away to lean upon the gazebo railing.

"You saw my son," she said. "He came to me in a vision. I've decided to name him Arwenagorn, just because it sounds pretty."

Elrond shook his head.

"That future is almost gone."

"But it is not lost," she said.

Elrond slumped down upon his seat once again, gazing down at his newspaper with a dark expression upon his face.

"Nothing is certain," he said.

Arwen lifted up her dress and knelt down before him. Tenderly she reached out and touched a hand to her father's face, tilting it towards her.

"Some things are certain," she said softly. "So tell you what. Why don't I just wait a few weeks and see how this whole battle for the known world turns out? If Aragorn wins then, yay! If not, I can just catch a later ship to Valinor. I mean, it's never been made very clear whether it is a one-time thing or a chartered voyage anyways…"

Elrond stared at his daughter incredulously.

"Why in Eru's name didn't you bring this up before?" he said. "This whole storyline was completely redundant!"

Arwen shrugged as she lowered her hand again.

"Don't blame me – Jackson had to pad this thing out to three hours somehow."


	33. The Beacons Are, Ack!

_I didn't realise just how long it had been since I last updated this fic until I checked the dates – yikes! I'm busy studying for my doctorate at the moment and unfortunately fanfiction tends to take a backseat nowadays, but whenever I have the time and inspiration I do my best to update. There are actually seven chapters of this fic left to write so I'm gonna make a concerted effort to update this a bit faster in the future. I hope this was worth the wait!_

**XXX**

And so a hooded and cloaked Arwen decided to recite a few choice lines of verse from the pen of Tolkien himself, for it was the only way to drown out the sound of gnashing teeth from the more die-hard purists in the audience at this latest plot development concerning her inexplicably imminent death:

"_From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be King_."

And as she spoke she approached the Shards of Narsil (last seen in chapter eight). A convenient flashback of Isildur and Sauron in battle then served to remind the casual audience just what the heck the Shards of Narsil actually were, cause, y'know, not the brightest lot at the best of times.

**XXX**

Back in Elrond's gazebo, Arwen was only ten seconds away from throwing a full-blown hissy fit. But somehow she had found the time to change into yet another elaborate-and-expensive-looking-outfit-which-would -surely-give-Peter-Jackson-a-second-heart-attack.

"Re-forge the Sword," she urged her father.

Elrond stuck out his tongue.

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Arwen folded her arms and slumped down upon the seat behind her in a huff. As she did so something fell out of her pocket and crashed to the floor in an overly dramatic fashion, complete with a symbolic gust of autumn leaves.

"Dammit, I just bought that Kindle."

Elrond leant down to pick up said Kindle. He moped as he looked at the shattered screen. Then he set it down upon the side and knelt down in front of her, taking hold of Arwen's perfectly (and expensively) manicured hands.

"Your hands are cold," he said, glancing up at her. "The life of the Eldar is leaving you."

Arwen stared down at their clasped hands.

"This was my choice," she said. "_Ada_, whether by your will or not, there is no ship now that can bear me hence." She paused and thought about this for a moment. "Hmm. Y'know, this whole mortal-immortal choice made a lot more sense in the appendices. Maybe I should talk to my brothers about it."

Elrond frowned at her.

"Since when do you have any brothers?"

**XXX**

About ten minutes later a beleaguered Elrond watched from afar as his master elven sword smiths attempted to reforge the Shards of Narsil using a liberal helping of scotch tape.

**XXX**

In a forest far, far away Gandalf and Pippin continued racing towards Minas Tirith upon Shadowfax. It was all very dramatic and exciting, with trees whipping past at a frightening pace.

"We have just passed into the realm of Gondor," said Gandalf. He squinted his eyes and judged the distance. "Nnnnnn... now."

And in convenient movie fashion Shadowfax galloped up the crest of a hill at that moment. Before them rose the White City, looking all white and city-ish. It was surmounted by a huge sign which spelled out the words _Minas Tirith_ in 45 foot tall letters.

As Pippin looked upon this sight he felt a wave of relief. He had long suspected that the Sat Nav Gandalf had acquired especially for their trip was on the fritz. On the first night of their journey it had somehow directed them into the middle of a swamp, where Gandalf had insisted on pitching their tent and he had spent a miserable night sleeping in a puddle whilst Gandalf cheerfully did his laundry. The next day they had spent six hours going around in circles when the Sat Nav glitched and kept telling them to 'turn right at the forest clearing'.

Whenever he suggested gently that perhaps they should stop and ask for directions Gandalf had thrown a strop and insisted that the Sat Nav was fine and that he did not care for backseat riders. In the end Gandalf had set his staff ablaze and attempted to blast the thing to smithereens when it would not stop suggesting a shortcut through a sheer mountain face. Unfortunately, however, it had proved virtually indestructible, and for the last hour it had seen fit to serenade them with a rather croaky rendition of Copacabana.

Shadowfax tossed his mane as they stood admiring the sight of Minas Tirith.

Gandalf smiled in triumph.

"Minas Tirith, City of Kings," he said.

"You have reached your destination," sputtered out their Sat Nav, before it sparked and flamed and then emitted a thick cloud of black smoke in its death throes.

**XXX**

As the orchestral music soared dramatically Gandalf and Pippin rode through the bustling stone streets of Minas Tirith, making their way through the seven gates and up the seven levels to the summit of the walled city. They really liked the number seven in Minas Tirith. Go figure.

"Make way!" cried Gandalf ineffectually, as Shadowfax indiscriminately trampled down scores of passers-by on his way up to the Hall of Kings.

They finally made their way up the steps and into the courtyard at the city's summit, leaving scores of bruised and twitching citizens in their wake. Here Gandalf pulled on the reins and brought Shadowfax to a halt. They were now in the courtyard which contained the White Tree of Gondor. Obviously the gardener was away on vacation, because the tree itself was by all appearances, well, dead.

Pippin stared at the dead tree.

"It's the tree," he said. He tugged at the wizard's sleeve. "Look, Gandalf! I saw the future and stuff!"

"Yes," said Gandalf, "the White Tree of Gondor, the tree of the King." They both dismounted from Shadowfax and Pippin rubbed at his aching thighs as he walked bow-legged behind the wizard. They approached the Hall of Kings together. "Lord Denethor, however, is not king. He is a steward only. A caretaker of the throne."

Gandalf paused before they entered the hall.

"Now, listen carefully," he said. "Lord Denethor is Boromir's father-"

"Who-a-mir?"

"Boromir," said the wizard.

Pippin just stared at him blankly.

"He was the ninth member of the Fellowship?" said Gandalf exasperatedly.

Nothing.

The wizard lifted a hand.

"'Bout yay high. Big round shield? Yorkshire accent?"

Still nothing.

"He died painfully before your eyes?"

Pippin shook his head.

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Moving on," said Gandalf exasperatedly. "To give Denethor news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise. And do not mention Frodo or the Ring. And say nothing of Aragorn either." Gandalf stopped before the doors of the hall and turned to glance pointedly at his young charge. "In fact, it's better if you don't speak at all, Peregrin Took."

Pippin shrugged.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to."

**XXX**

And so they entered the Hall of Kings and strode the long and solemn avenue between the statues of towering kings, ironically enough. At the far end of the room Lord Denethor was sitting upon his black marble throne fiddling with the horn of Gondor. No really. Gandalf bowed low to the man before him, and directed Pippin to do the same.

"Hail, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor," said Gandalf.

Pippin waved a little.

"Hi."

"I come with tidings in this dark hour and with counsel," said Gandalf.

Denethor stopped fiddling with his horn and studied his visitors. Long hair fell across his shoulders and his eyes looked heavy with grief. He was dressed in heavy robes of fur which would have given PETA a heart attack.

"And what sort of tidings do you have?" Denethor said. "It's not bad news, is it? You know I can't take bad news."

Gandalf twiddled his thumbs.

"Well, to be perfectly frank, it's bad."

Denethor's face fell.

"I knew it!" he cried. "I knew it would be bad news." He thought a moment. "Wait, I have an idea. Maybe if you tell me the •bad• news in a •good• way, it wouldn't sound so bad."

Gandalf frowned then, and exchanged a look with the hobbit beside him.

"Pippin," he said in a low voice, "I have a feeling this guy is a few Samwise Gamgees short of a buffet…"

Denethor gestured to his horn in his lap.

"Perhaps you come to explain this," he said. "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead."

Gandalf shrugged.

"Well, that's the risk you take when you cast Sean Bean..."

Pippin suddenly gasped as he remembered the man who had died painfully before his eyes not two installments ago. The hobbit brushed past Gandalf and knelt down in front of Denethor.

"Boromir died to save us, my kinsmen and me. He fell defending us from many foes."

"Pippin!" the wizard scowled.

"I offer you my service such as it is," said Pippin. "You know, with the service and all. In payment of this debt."

Gandalf just whacked Pippin over the head with his staff.

"Get up!" he cried.

Pippin got up again, frowning and rubbing at his head.

"My lord," said Gandalf, "there will be a time to grieve for Boromir, but it is not now. Oscar season is coming."

Denethor just folded his arms and pouted.

"The enemy is on your doorstep," cried the wizard. "As Steward, you're charged with the defence of this city. Where are Gondor's armies? And why has nobody watered that damned tree?"

Denethor just stared blankly at Gandalf. The wizard rolled his eyes.

"You still have Facebook friends," he said. "You're not alone in this fight. Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons. Or call him on the telephone for Eru's sake. It's the bloody Third Age."

Denethor shook his head.

"You think you are wise, Mithrandir, yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. Plus I've just finished reading the books. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor! And, with your right, you seek to supplant me!"

Gandalf looked down at each of his hands in confusion.

"I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan," said Denethor. "Oh, yes, words have reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And I tell you now, I will not bow to this ranger from the north! Last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship!"

Gandalf put his hands upon his hips.

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, bitch."

Denethor leapt up from his chair in anger.

"The whole rule of Gondor is mine and no others! I do not care what the tagline of this movie says! Now get out of my throne room!"

"Fine!" yelled Gandalf. "I'm going to build my own throne room! With blackjack! And hookers! You know what - forget the throne room!"

And Gandalf stormed out of the chamber with a bewildered Pippin scurrying along closely at his heels.

**XXX**

Later that night Gandalf sat on the balcony of Minas Tirith's equivalent of a Motel 6, smoking his pipe and gazing out at the walls of the city and the ominous glow of Mordor in the distance, all ominous and glowy.

Pippin was busy picking out an outfit for his first shift the next day. Gandalf had already vetoed the paisley trousers and golfing shirt, and now he was playing around with a more subdued tartan ensemble.

"So I imagine this is just a ceremonial position," said Pippin, as he inspected his sword. "I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting." He paused and looked to Gandalf. "Do they?"

"You're in the service of the Steward now," said the wizard. "You're going to have to do as you're told, Peregrin Took, Guard of the Citadel. Not every actor gets a stunt double, you know."

Pippin just walked over to the balcony railing and slumped against it, pouting mightily.

"I'm bored," he said. "I was all excited about the generous partitioning of action sequences in this movie, but then I changed my mind. I don't want to be in a battle, but waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse. Especially with this running time. Death doesn't seem so bad right now."

The wizard thought about this.

"Umm, no, not really. I'd still prefer the cake."

He got up from his seat and came to stand beside the hobbit at the balcony edge. Pippin looked up at Gandalf.

"Is there any hope, Gandalf? For Frodo and Sam?"

Gandalf waved a dismissive hand.

"They're the protagonists, for Eru's sake. Of course they're going to save the day, barring some acrimonious contract dispute. Or some excessive rewriting of the source material."

Pippin shot Gandalf an alarmed look.

"You've never heard about Glorfindel?"

Gandalf turned back and looked towards Mordor with pensive face.

"Our enemy is ready," he said. "His full strength is gathered. Not only orcs, but men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the South. Mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's casting call." As he spoke a convenient montage of said enemy forces played across the screen. "This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer stroke will fall hardest. If the river is taken - if the garrison at Osgiliath falls - the last defence of this city will be gone."

Pippin frowned up at him.

"Spoiler alert, much? But anyways, we have the White Wizard. That's got to count for something."

Gandalf frowned back.

"Who's the White Wizard?"

Pippin did not feel reassured. He massaged his temples and tried to concentrate on his rather hefty paycheck instead.

"So who is the secondary antagonist in this movie?" he asked. "Since we are supposedly battling an incorporeal being which manifests itself as a giant flaming eye at the top of a tower and yet is desperately trying to get its non-existent hands on a magical ring..." He frowned when he realised what he had just said. "Bloody hell, the logic fail in this movie adaptation is ridiculous."

"Sauron has yet to reveal his deadliest servant," said Gandalf. Another convenient montage of said deadliest servant played as he spoke. This dark figure pulled on a pair of iron-clad gauntlets and then tried on an assortment of increasingly elaborate hats until he settled on a black helmet. No face could be seen between his mantled shoulders. "The one who will lead Mordor's armies in war. The one they say no living man can kill: the Witchking of Angmar. You've met him before. He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop."

Another convenient flashback played at that moment, showing Frodo being stabbed with the Morgul blade (back in chapter six). Pippin looked apprehensive.

"You look apprehensive," said Gandalf.

"Well duh."

"He is the lord of the Nazgûl, the greatest of the nine. Minas Morgul is his lair."

Pippin looked apprehensive again.

"But don't worry," said the wizard. "It's not like anybody we know is ever going to pay him a visit..."

**XXX**

Speaking of which.

Frodo, Sam and Gollum crawled across an expanse of rocky ground, stopping and carefully peering over the edge of the raised roadside. They looked up at the eerie green stronghold of Minas Morgul, its entrance flanked by two stone gargoyles standing in the road. Funnily enough, it just so happened to be the lair of the aforementioned Witchking of Angmar. Dat clever editing.

"The Dead City," said Gollum.

Sam frowned.

"Looks dead."

"Hence the name," said Gollum in exasperation. "Look, I was trying to be all ominous, if you don't mind. I'm getting a little sick of you two ruining the atmosphere. This is supposed to be a scary scene and neither of you are taking it serious..."

Gollum trailed off when he realised that both hobbits had left his side. He looked up and realised that they had already climbed up onto the road and were currently making stupid faces at the stone gargoyles guarding it.

Gollum just rushed over and tugged at their cloaks.

"Quick! Quick! They will see! They will see, you idiots!"

Hidden amongst the rocks by the roadside were the very steep and winding stairs leading up to the sheer pass of Cirith Ungol. Gollum pointed upwards.

"Look!" he said. "We have found it, the way into Mordor. The Secret Stair! Now climb it, for the love of Eru, climb it! I wanna finish this bloody parody before the next century is out!"

Gollum pushed the two clueless hobbits towards the winding stairs. Sam just moaned and dragged his feet as he trundled onwards.

"Haven't these people ever heard of escalators?"

Gollum hopped up onto the rocks beside the pass and started to make his way up the stairs. Sam followed him, muttering obscenities. Meanwhile Frodo stopped in his tracks and turned back, his eyes drawn towards the Dead City below.

"I can see my house from here!"

And he abandoned the stairs and started towards the entrance of Minas Morgul instead. The ring around his neck whispered sweet nothings as he stopped and stuck out his tongue at one of the stone gargoyles. Sam took the opportunity to rugby tackle him to the dusty floor.

"No, bad Frodo!"

Frodo frowned at him and struggled back to his feet. He tried to break free as Sam and Gollum grabbed at his arms and legs.

"They're calling me. They said I look fat!"

But they were having none of it. As they struggled to pull Frodo away from the road a series of quakes suddenly rocked the ground where they were standing, knocking them off their feet. A green light shot up into the sky from the uppermost tower of Minas Morgul, piercing the clouds like some kind of evil bat signal.

Sam and Frodo sat impotently in the road as the ground continued to quake.

"Oh bollocks."

**XXX**

The light emanating from the Morgul Vale leapt high into the air and was seen for miles by the inhabitants of Minas Tirith.

As Pippin looked on in fear Gandalf reached out and put a comforting arm around him.

Pippin just shook his head and disentangled the wizard's arm from his shoulders.

"Don't encourage the shippers," he whispered.

**XXX**

Frodo, Sam and Gollum peered from behind the rocks of the pass as wings beat the air above. The Witchking perched his fell beast upon a spire of Minas Morgul and surveyed his domain. Then he let out an almighty screech which rattled the hobbits down to their molars.

Sam clutched at his head in agony.

"Ice cream headache, ice cream headache!"

Frodo clenched his teeth and touched a hand to his special place.

"I can feel his blade," said Frodo. He cast the other two an awkward glance, indicating his wounded shoulder. "In a non-sexual way."

The Witchking screeched again and the gates of Minas Morgul swung open. Then an immense army of orcs began to pour out onto the road, a living testament to the power of conscription.

**XXX**

Back on the walls of Minas Tirith their companions stood and looked out at the still ominous and glowy Mordor.

"We come to it at last," said Gandalf. "The great battle of our time."

Pippin turned to him.

"When?"

Gandalf glanced at his watch.

"Give it another hour or so."

**XXX**

The huge army continued to pour out of the gates of Minas Morgul. Gollum just rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch as Sam and Frodo peered out at the passing orcs and wondered how on earth nobody had spotted them yet. Seriously, the bad guys in this franchise had only themselves to blame for their complete lack of peripheral vision.

An assortment of orcs carrying flaming torches marched past. The next moment the Witchking on his fell beast flew above their heads and swept right past their hiding place. Obviously Sauron had never bothered to invest in radar.

"Can we go now?" said Gollum impatiently. "I'm in a bit of a hurry here. Premeditated murder and all."

And so all three turned around and continued to climb up the steep and winding stairs of Morgul Vale (there being no available escalators) as the army of the Witchking marched obliviously through the valley below.

Idiots.

**XXX**

Meanwhile Gandalf was all about the melodramatic chess metaphors as he led Pippin through the stone streets of Minas Tirith. Pippin toddled after him, doing his best to keep up with the wizard's long strides.

"Peregrin Took, my lad. There is a task now to be done. Another opportunity for one of the Shire-folk to prove their great worth. That paycheck isn't going to cash itself, y'know."

Pippin followed Gandalf through a narrow alley filled with barrels, crates and hanging bunches of what he hoped were healing herbs. A chicken flapped past as they emerged into the street and the wizard stopped and knelt down in front of Pippin. He put a hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"You must not fail me," he said.

Pippin met his eyes and nodded. Then he brushed past the kneeling wizard and sped away down the street with fierce determination towards the beacon tower in the distance.

Gandalf smiled privately to himself.

Behind him Pippin doubled back when he realised he was going the wrong way.

**XXX**

Over in Osgiliath things were frankly not going much better for our protagonists. Under the cover of darkness a fleet of orc boats slipped quietly through the water, captained by an unpleasant fellow named Gothmog who had recently suffered a nasty accident involving his left hand and an unattended waffle iron. Amongst the ruins of the city Faramir rallied his men as they snatched up weapons and sprung into clandestine action.

"To the river!" he urged. "Quick, quick! Come on!"

Meanwhile Gothmog was directing his huge fleet towards the shore like some kind of creepy D-day landing reenactment.

"Draw swords!" cried Gothmog.

The boats approached the shore as Gondorian soldiers darted unseen amongst the ruins and took positions in the shadows. The boats came to a sudden halt and the fronts dropped away, allowing the orcs to pour out into the city like an evil sluice.

Faramir remained hidden with his rangers in the shadows, pressed against a crumbling wall as the orcs rushed past their position and into the city proper. The sounds of fighting soon drifted towards them as the rest of the battalion engaged in battle with the invaders.

Faramir held his position, waiting for the opportune moment.

"On my signal, we attack," he whispered.

The fighting continued. Swords clashed. Helms rung. Orcs shrieked. Men gave manly screams. Some fell down dead. Others fell down and pretended to be dead. War is hell and all that. It was not long before another boat made shore, bridging a gap across a broken bridge and bringing in fresh reinforcements as orcs swarmed into the city and began to overwhelm their position.

One of the rangers cast his superior a nervous glance.

"Er, Captain Faramir?"

"Wait for it... wait for it..."

**XXX**

As dawn approached Pippin slowly climbed up the side of the beacon tower. The vertical structure seemed to stretch on forever and ever, his fingertips struggling to find a handhold in the smooth and polished stone. Sweat dripped from his forehead and the muscles in his arms and legs burned as he shakily pulled himself onwards.

Then he reached the top and gave a groan. There was a ladder on the other side.

He snatched a look around. The guards stationed below were busy playing poker. Quietly he scrambled on top of the beacon, pulled out his lighter and groped for the oil lamp hanging above his head as he tried to catch a flame. The lamp swung wildly and promptly tipped all over him. For a moment he just stood there, dripping with oil and holding his flaming lighter. Then his head caught on fire.

"ARGHHHHHHHH!"

The soldiers guarding the beacon got up, startled at the sight.

"The beacon!" they cried. "The beacon of Amon Dîn is lit!"

They pointed excitedly at a flaming ball perched atop the beacon. Then they frowned. The flaming ball hopped down and began running around in panicked circles. Then it ran towards them and a fiery hand snatched up one of the soldier's canteens. The flaming ball poured the contents of the canteen over itself.

The flaming ball flamed up even further.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning!" Pippin screamed.

He dropped the empty canteen of brandy and then threw himself on the ground, rolling about to try and put himself out.

Gandalf stood watching this scene from the street below.

"Hope is kindled," he said with a smile.

Pippin was not so thrilled however. His sleeve was still on fire. He promptly ran about, squealing. No one cared. They were too busy gazing at the beautiful sight of the lighting of the beacons, accompanied by a rather epic-sounding score.

**XXX**

On one distant peak a rather old and grizzled man with a very long beard was sitting by an unlit beacon. He noticed a light on the horizon and shakily stood up, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the distant glare of the rising sun. He could not believe what he was seeing.

"The beacons!" he cried. "The beacons are lit! All my life I have been waiting for this moment! They said I was mad. Mad? Ha! I'll show them! It has been worth it! It has been worth every single moment! I might have lost my job and had the house repossessed. And then the wife ran off with the gardener and took me for everything I was worth, but this! This is it! This is the moment. This is the reason for my very existence! Nearly one hundred years of fasting and meditation, sleeping on bare rock, eating stray bugs, losing that toe to frostbite and nearly dying of hypothermia every winter. It was all worth it!"

And excitedly the old man scrambled over to the beacon and fumbled with his lighter.

One flick.

Two flicks.

It wouldn't light.

The old man's face spasmed with displeasure. He flicked his lighter for a third time and a tiny spark leapt into being. He held it up triumphantly but then his face spasmed again. He was having a heart attack. A heart attack!

The old man fell to his knees, gasping for air. Sharp pains were shooting up his left arm, but somehow he found the strength to drag himself over to the beacon. Darkness was settling upon his mind. With his last moments of life he reached out a trembling hand and dropped the flaming lighter onto the bale of hay.

The wind blew it out.

The old man drew a deep breath.

"Fu-"

**XXX**

A hundred leagues away Aragorn sat alone on the steps of Edoras, idly twiddling his thumbs. He frowned as he looked up and noticed a distant glow on the horizon. It was followed by another glow on a neighbouring peak, forming a chain of lights which stretched on for miles.

Aragorn sprung to his feet and gazed at the sight for a long moment. Then he turned on his heel and legged it up the steps of Edoras with as much speed as he could muster. There was a thunderous clang as he burst through the doors of the Golden Hall and raced inside.

Those gathered turned towards him, startled. Aragorn came skidding to a halt, flustered and overwhelmed as he attempted to catch his breath.

"Is it okay if I use the bathroom?"

Éowyn frowned; Théoden just hiked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Third door on the left," he said.

And Aragorn nodded his thanks and quickly rushed off down the corridor. Gimli appeared in the doorway behind him and watched him go. He shrugged lightly.

"The beacons are lit, by the way."


End file.
